A Certain Redhead
by JumpinPopTarts
Summary: The most famous South Park Redhead attracts yet another admirer...and definitely doesn't feel the same way! CxK FINAL CHAPTER UP!
1. Can't Get Enough of My Ass Can you?

A Certain Redhead...- by JumpinPopTarts

Ownership: if I owned this I wouldn't be sitting here tapping away on my cruddy old pc, would I? lol nahh kudos to Trey P and Matt S for the ideas…

Author's note: This is a gift. Hope that person likes it :D

"insert bit of semi-interesting blather here"

enjoy

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He's just so fucking beautiful.

Its like a switch flicks, or something, every time he walks into the room, plunging the rest of the world into darkness and bathing him in this great, dazzling halo. A cascade of copper curls, skin like sculpted alabaster and eyes…don't even get me started. They're like an angel's, a bright, piercing green, shot with a thousand glimmering hues, like two faultless emeralds shining in the night.

Their setting fades away behind them, the dull battered grey of the school halls draining to a distant memory. My entire world strains and shifts, focussing solely on him.

My secret love.

Long, slender fingers close around the meagre schoolbooks, sliding them delicately from the beat-up metal lockers so as not to crease them. They're shit, barely worthy to grace his flawless skin, yet he holds them lovingly, like long lost friends. They're his world, his mind, his escape. The only way for him to leave the tiny little mountain town, full of all those worthless hippies, that stinking piece of poor trash and…

Fat people.

Fat _person_.

Me.

For at the very moment my vision, my love, turns his stunning gaze to meet mine, dark clouds swooping over immaculate brows and angel lips parting to spill obscenities down on my head.

"What the fuck're you staring at, fatass! Shift your great faggy butt out of my way so I can get to class!"

"Ay! Can't get enough of my butt can you? Piss-ass Jew-fag." I flip him off with a skill learned only from Craig himself and scowl hard enough to force the tears back behind my eyes.

Yup. You guessed it. You bunch of clueless hippies.

Eric Cartman, Hitler-worshipper, Fatass and Brat is in Love with Kyle Broflovski, the Ginger, Jewfro-d Semite Swot.

If you don't like it, you can piss off.

If only I could do the same.

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_Yep. Short and sweet. Hopefully that'll mean a sequel soon!_

_Pleeeaaassseee read and review: I only joined this site at the weekendso am still new to this! X3_


	2. Jew Spotting

_c_HA_p_TE_r_ 2

_Jew-Spotting_

Ownership: Trey Parker and Matt Stone (and I own Samantha! hahaaaa)Author's note: ermm...yes...its chapter two...enjoy!

Some people say Eric Cartman is the biggest, most spoiled brat in South Park

Some people say Eric Cartman has never had to worry about anything, probably because his mum's whored herself out providing for him since his very first, grasping breath.

Eric Cartman has never had a real friend in his whole life

Eric Cartman is the asshole of assholes.

Eric Cartman has no idea what love is.

Eric Cartman says he just doesn't give a shit.

…apart from where _they_ are concerned.

I can see them now, a couple of rows in front and to either side of where I'm sitting.

She's perched on the edge of her seat, biting her lip and twiddling her pencil in that annoying way swots do when they're just itching to raise their hand, simpering smiles alight in the hope that teacher-dearest will give them another goddamned A.

And he's …drooling.

Yes, fucking drooling. I can practically see the saliva dripping of his perfect little pointed chin as he stares and stares at her. What is she? A piece of meat? A slab of chocolate? A gigantic special offer bag of Cheesy Poofs?

Hell No.

She's Samantha.

Yup, frigging Samantha, the biggest swot in the whole damn world, except for that bitch-whore Wendy Testaburger. She's not Jewish, or Christian or even an anything as far as I can tell, _and_ she's got a nose with a zit the size of Krakatoa perched on the edge of it… yet he's still panting after her like some sordid little ginger lapdog.

What the hell does he see in her? The dumbass could have any girl he wanted in this class (and some of the _boys_, as I found out about a month ago at homecoming…ohh Tweek's going to have to do me some _serious_ favours before I forget that little episode…). Seriously, for a kid with the biggest bitch in the whole wide world for a mum and a dad that suited the whole Metrosexual phase disturbingly well, he hadn't turned out half bad…al_right_ (goddamnit) a bit better than not half bad…I've even caught Mr-Biceps-2006-Stan-Marsh throwing him jealous looks if that gives you idiots a clue.

Looks like I'm just one of the crowd on this one.

Oh no

_Hell_ no

There's no WAY Eric Cartman's going to follow the crowd!

I'll just have to fine some way to make him _mine _that's all, and for the kid who invented Cartmanland it can't be all that difficult…

"Hey, fatass!"

"Fuck off Jew-fro." I scowl… then blink my piggy eyes in confusion; the fag's still slobbering over Samantha. So who…? I look up and see a familiar pair of board marker blue eyes, lit with the most perverted grin I've ever seen…or ever want to see.

"Oh. Its you. Fine, I'll change it to 'Fuck off Poor-Trash', means the same thing." I flip Kenny off and try to move away. He's supposed to be my favourite asshole in our group and yeah he probably is, but we're talking about a choice between a SuperJock, a Jewish Gaywad and a kid whose read porno since preschool so that doesn't count for much.

Unfortunately, even when I'm sitting on two chairs, an ass like mine doesn't leave much room for movement. I damn well nearly smash my bloody face on the floor as both plastic seats threaten to split (again) and end up struggling back upright with a face like flobbery beetroot. Maybe I'll stay put after all. I roll my eyes and do my best to pretend I didn't just nearly fall off my chair, despite Kenny's goddamn sniggering.

"Fine. What did you want, scumball? It had better be good." Probably a new theory on just how big the bra size of the new English supply teacher is, knowing him. Oh joy.

But instead of a string of sick shit, the asshole grins at me and drops a slip of paper on my desk. Some kind of photocopied invite…Jesus, you'd've thought he'd've given up on invites when he left second grade.

I read it anyway.

**_Partay. My House. Wennsday. 8 til weneva_**

**_Bring drinks. Lots of em_**

**_And girls XD_**

**_Ken_**

Poor impoverished piece of crap. Sixteen years old and he still can't spell for shit. I laugh and call him a dumbass, but he's serious and just asks me if I can come or not. I know I can; fatasses don't have social lives; but I pretend I'm thinking about it for a second or two just to piss him off.

"Yeah alright I'll be there. You'd better have good booze though, Kenny, or I'll beat you senseless." Not the best reply but I really want to get back to my Jew-watching session right now. Kenny grins and says something about his girlfriend making sure he's senseless anyway (thank god for muffling hoods) before wandering off to stick another invite on Token's desk.

I wriggle away again (no actual turning now or those chairs are really going to break) so I'm facing the wall and bury my fists in my jowls so nobody can see me grin.

Kenny means parties.

Parties mean booze.

Booze means people getting rat-arsed and pissing about way too much

Pissing about means anything could happen

Anything.

Like…oh….a soap-opera style break up between Jew-boy and Zit-zillah thanks to a cunning word in her ear by a 'concerned' friend of her boyfriend's?

Not mentioning any names. Of course.

Suddenly, I can't wait for Wednesday…

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Please review! I'm giving up valuable revision time to write this! XD

_(Very reliable…ahem…anyway…)_

I have goodies if you do! _'waves virtual cookies enticingly'_


	3. Mating Dances, Gopher Style

Chapter 3

Mating Dances, Gopher style

By: JumpinPopTarts

Owners: C'mon, you know by now

Speech: Okay, first to say THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU REVIEWERS! You have no idea how much it means to me X3. Secondly: if you are reading this then please review because I've decided that chapter four will not appear unless my reviews reach double figures. Mean but true :D so PLEASE if you have something to say then say it!

thanks again!

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Kyle and Samantha were going out by the following day. Fucking slut couldn't wait to get her brace-infested teeth into him, or so I hear, and he was all too happy to oblige.

Unfortunately, I was the one to find this particular bit out first.

Double Biology, last thing on a Tuesday afternoon; hardly the most wonderful subject to be going to at the best of times…yet it was about to get a whole lot worse. I turned the corner on the way round the back of the lab block and…

Ugh.

Lip-lock barely covers it. More like a full frontal animal mating dance. Made my triple portion of canteen fries turn in my stomach, I can tell you. That Samantha looks even more like an overgrown gopher mid-snog than she does when grade-grabbing!

But then my eyes shift to Kyle.

Oh God_ damn_ teenage hormones!

So…fucking….hot! A light flush over curved cheekbones, highlighting his cute dusting of freckles, lips swollen to a delicately flushed rose, closing and opening with kisses in a way that makes my stomach (and other parts) clench…but it's his hair that gets me every time. So gorgeously shiny and sleek and curly, ever so slightly damp now with sweat so that it trails seductively over his perfect forehead and one closed eyelid.

_God, I know I only believe in you to piss people off, but switch mine and Samantha's places now and you'll have one devout follower for the rest of my whole damn gay-ass life!_

Turns out God's got no time for homos.

Blood still swirling worryingly, I shuffle slowly away. It takes all my willpower to stop staring, but if he catches me then my plan'll be ruined. He has to be able to tolerate me enough not to suspect me for what's going to happen on Wednesday, and if all goes to plan then he'll be wanting to suspect (and subsequently dismember) someone very_ very_ much.

I make my way to class and slide in at my double desk on the back row (goddamn skinny school chairs), trying to be as unnoticeable as possible but for some odd reason I'm finding it hard to concentrate…

…_tumbling copper curls over flawless white skin…_

Just think of Wednesday. Think of Wednesday.

…_swollen lips opening and closing oh so sensually slow_…

WEDNESDAY, DAMN YOU! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU TOLD YOURSELF NOT TO THINK WITH YOUR FIREMAN?

I don't learn a single thing that lesson.

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heh, short, I know but I'm saving myself for the next chapter :D

So what did you think? Any ideas or input would be much appreciated! even if its just 'turn down the language, girl!' (though it is kind refresing to write like this) CLICK!


	4. The Next Stage Of The Game

Chapter 4

The Next Stage of the Game

Author's Note: I'll be honest with this. I've had a_ Humongous_ dose of writers block regarding this chapter and it's refused to go away throughout. So sorry if this isn't as good as the others. Also, due to boredom, I keep scene changing like a maniac, hence all the random paragraphs then -woops- onto the next scene… I think it still makes sense though…anyways, enjoy!

N.b yup this chapter's LONG lol, as is the next one.

Ownership: Yeah yeah Trey and Matt did this, not me. Don't rub it in. 

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One hour to go until the party…

And I'm stuck in front of the mirror.

Goddamnit how faggy does that sound? But it's true; apart from a pair of battered jeans and an ancient Greenday hoodie everything I've got is either anti-Semitic (who doesn't love swastikas?) or has…erm…shrunk mysteriously in the wash..._(cough_)…since I last wore it.

I'll bet Jew-boy's going to look fantastic…

_Emerald eyes the colour of summer…crimson curls like fire against alabaster skin…_

Drool…

AYE! Snap out of it your stupid faggy fatass!

Now where's the hair gel?

…

o0o

Half an hour later, I give up. Even an evil genius has to have his fair share of crappy days. If people (namely Jews) don't like it, then it's their own damn problem.

_--! BEEEP !--_

Thank Hitler; that would be my reprieve.

I waddle to the window and wave a burly arm down at Kenny. He's sitting in his new car, this beat up piece of shit he managed to 'earn' over the summer. (I didn't really want to ask but apparently he came to my mum beforehand for…tips) Unaware of the unsavoury images flashing through my skull, the penniless blonde gives the horn one last honk before flipping me off and turning up the stereo. Ugh, poor trash gets scummier every year.

"Give me a damn second, dustbin-spawn!" I bawl through the glass, grabbing my keys and running another despairing hand through my badly spiked hair. I got it buzz cut about two months ago and it still makes me look like I'm going bald.

Guess which sneering redhead was the first to point this out.

But I guess it doesn't matter;

All will be avenged tonight…

o0o

"How's it going, podge?" Kenny greets me with his familiar lop-sided leer, jabbing a bony finger in my gut for good measure.

"Great until you got here…and stop feeling me up, fag!" I mutter, trying and failing to get the seatbelt round my paunch.

"Oh, so _I'm_ the fag now?" I whip round, eyes widening despite myself. _What_! How did he _know_?

And they say blondes are dumb!

"WH-?" I bluster "WhatmakesyouthinkI'm a-"

He cracks up "Huh? You? Jesus, Eric I was talking about Tweek! Remember you said yesterday that there was one blonde fag in every school and ours was addicted to caffeine?" I breathe a sigh of relief and try not to flop back into the chair too hard. The asshole really had me scared there.

There'd better be some kickass alcohol at this party.

I must've said as much because Kenny gives me another grin, jerking his thumb behind him into what was left of the back seat. I squint over and see at least ten crates of beer and some skinny bottles of vodka tucked back in the shadows.

"You're helping me carry it in remember? Why else would I have given you a lift to my own party!"

South park's most famous slut smirks at my flabbergasted face (I had hoped he'd've forgotten about that end of the bargain) and stamps on the accelerator.

We're at his house in minutes. It's still as much of a wreck as it's always been, but he and his older brother built this massive extension in the back about a year ago, making it the ideal place for parties. The lights are all off when we pull up outside; nobody else is here yet… more's the pity.

o0o

I _swear_ some of those crates were heavier then Kenny himself! By the time the last one is safely stowed in the kitchen, my hoodie's showing sweat marks and I'm ready to drop. I collapse on the sofa (breaking all four legs) and exhale loudly, eyelids already beginning to close… That's_ definitely_ my calorie burn done for the week.

"Tired already?" Kenny asks brightly. The hyperactive asshole. How can he be cheerful after all that work at this time of night? I start as he leans over the back of the sofa and drops a slim black can into my lap.

"Some kind of Red Bull spoof." He says, pointing at the drink's lurid green label (the title's illegible, in Swedish or something equally stupid). "But it's got a hell of a kick. Try some; it'll really get you going."

At that moment, there's an unenthusiastic rapping on the door and our perverted blonde leaps off to get it. I crane my ears for a second but realise it's only a group of girls and crack open the Swedish crap instead.

Tell you the truth; I hate bloody parties with a passion. This has got to be the first I've been to since the one in seventh grade where I tried to drown Craig in the punch bowl.

Fatass fags aren't the most social species in the animal kingdom. Get over it.

I swill the Swedish gunk around for a bit then down half the can in one. Tastes like cat piss but I really couldn't care, as long at it passes the time until Kyle gets here.

Then, and only then, will things start to get that little bit more interesting…

o0o

Quarter past eleven and the party's in full swing. There must be the entire student population of South Park here and at least half of Middle park mixed in too.

And they're all at it like drunken rabbits.

…_very_ drunken rabbits.

The whole room seethes with booze, smoke and body spray, sweaty bodies writhing together like animals to a thumping baseline. From here they could be one single being, joined by arms, hips and stomachs, sharing a thousand delirious heartbeats and a hundred thousand shots.

The alcohol's got everyone on a high

_So Testosterone Boys and Harlequin Girls_

_Will you dance to this beat_

_And hold a lover close?_

Not bloody likely.

I think I'm the only one sober enough to see the after effects.

o0o

I let out a groan of disgust as a couple stagger past me in the direction of the bathroom, eyes closed, hands and lips everywhere but where but where they're supposed to be. I recognise the girl as Bebe but haven't got a clue who the guy is, but it looks like neither of them will remember in the morning anyway. The hickeys he's leaving all over her chest and neck aren't going to fade quite so swiftly though.

Kenny's working just as fast; I can see him backed up against the wall with a pair of slim white arms tangled in his matted hair, bodies rocking to a rhythm just out of sync with the DJ.

I would say lucky bastard but…

There's only one person I want to be twined around tonight, and he's nowhere near drunk enough.

I sidle into the living room and lean against the doorframe, my eyes drinking in his beautiful body from across the room. The curl of his spine, the contours of his muscled shoulders, the supple curve of his waist…He's so perfect. Like a sculpture, a masterpiece, too perfect to be real.

Except for one tiny flaw…a shadow in his faultless radiance.

A shadow kissing her way across his face at this very moment.

That damn grade grabbing bitch-whore has worked her way into the scene again, wrapping her skinny limbs around my Jew-fag like she'll never let him go. I even see Stan's smile freeze in revulsion as she shimmies into his best friend's embrace, purring what she no doubt hopes qualify as sweet nothings into the redhead's ear.

I watch, chest tight, as he closes her grasping hand within his and smiles into her eyes, planting a tiny kiss on her crooked nose and miming something that looks like a request for a drink.

Zit-Zillah pouts and nods sulkily before striding off towards the kitchen, swaying her hips so deliberately it looks like she's gone bow legged.

As always my gaze boomerangs back to Kyle, my entire body tensing as he smiles at something Stan said, lighting up the whole room.

He just looks so happy….

I feel something crumple inside of me. A tiny little crack appearing in the veneer of my fundamental Jew-beating master-plan. Suddenly my ultimate goal of Kyle-annihilation doesn't seem all that fantastic anymore…

Could I really hurt him? Do I truly want to break his heart, as he has broken mine? Why do I need so badly to make him suffer for nothing?

…

**_--BANG!--_**

"Gee Mr Cartman, I'm sorry! I didn't see you there. Shucks, I'm so so-sorry." Butters staggers past me with a tray of drinks, almost knocking me into the wall. Everything spins for a moment and by the time I right myself, the Retard's gone and I see Kyle looking my way. It's only momentary but long enough to ensure I notice the sadistic smirk on his angel features, the ugly twist of pride that I'd strive my entire life to see removed.

_God how I hate him._

The questions from seconds before try to resurface and I feel my stomach flip in horror at how preposterous they sound

OF COURSE I WANT TO HURT HIM! OF COURSE I WANT TO SEE HIM SUFFER! I WANT HIS WHOLE WORLD TO COME CRASHING DOWN AROUND HIM AS I WATCH AND LAUGH!

How could I ever have thought otherwise? Must be the damned alcohol, I told Kenny to buy something decent but oh no…he has to get the stuff that's got so much shit in it, it fucks up your mind before you've even drunk a full can.

Someone sneezes loudly and my eyes fall to the sofa to my left, widening as they recognise its sole occupant. She's sitting hunched and hawk-like on the cushions as though expecting them to bite her, her frumpy black dress draped prissily over her knees as she sips resolutely on her Diet Coke.

You'll never guess.

The famous Samantha.

She must've given the drinks to Jew-boy then come over here for a sit-down.

A slow, shark-like grin splits my monstrous jowls. Perfect.

All that dithering over morals has wasted valuable time, but this glimpse of pizza-features gives me the start I need;

The next stage of the game in is motion…

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_uh oh...lol_

_Please Leave aReview!_

- 5 -


	5. No Sh t Sherlock

Chapter 5

No Shit Sherlock

Author's Note: I wrote both this and chapter 4 as one bunch originally and only decided to split them when I realised the total would have been almost 8 pages and that's just mean. This chapter is also very 'talky' and Cartman sounds cliché because he's trying to be that way…thanks for reading anyways! XD

Mega Bust-Up in this chapter, hope u all like X3

Disclaimer: Trey Parker and Matt Stone…then Zit-Zillah is mine :D

Dedicated to: Everyone who hasreviewed…but especially Sarahmoo, Azu Lunaand strider-mystic 'hugs all' thanks so much for your support!

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"Hello there." I put on my shiniest smile, sit down, and sidle a little closer, trying not to notice how she curls as subtly as possible in the opposite direction. It soon becomes clear that I'm not going to move away anytime soon, so she sets down her coke and scowls at me warily.

"What do you want?" Wow what a charming little rodent she is. Should've brought the rat poison.

Nevertheless, if you're going to ruin your friend's life, you have to work at it.

"Am I speaking to Miss Samantha Saint-Claire?" I simper, jiggling the can of Swedish crap impatiently.

She looks a bit taken aback and, shock horror, manages to sound like less of a smartass bitch in her reply.

"Uh….yes you are. Did you have something to tell me?"

"Well, Samantha, its not that I want to _tell_ you something, it's that I want to_ ask_ you a very, ah … _important_ question." Cue winning smile.

"Look if this is about the math homework then it can wait til-" _Math_? Who in their right mind would think about _math_ at a _party_? The swot's delusional, but then that's hardly news.

"I'm afraid it's much more important that math." I do my best to look crestfallen, but the pout turns into a smirk as I practically see her ears prick up.

"And what could be more important than math?" she practically gasps. God, girl, don't kill yourself just because you found out the world's not made of equations. As an answer, I incline my head just a little to the other side of the room, where Kyle's leaning against a wall, grinning at something Stan's just whispered in his ear.

"It's about him."

"Who? Stan?" So much for booksmart.

"No. I'm talking about a certain… redhead we both know."

"You mean Kyle!" oh no shit, Sherlock. How many other carrot-tops do you see in this room?

"Yes." I nod gravely and hold her gaze, making sure she's supremely freaked out before delivering my ultimate bombshell.

"Sam…do you know that your boyfriend had been cheating on you?"

The effect is instantaneous. Imagine watching a mouse/iguana hybrid self combust before your eyes, and you've got her expression about right.

"You think he's _cheating_? On _me_?"

"Yes. I have no doubt whatsoever."

"What? How? Why? When? With who? I swear I'll kill them, just tell me their name and I'll-"

_So the bookworm does have some fight in her. Excellent, now to use it to my advantage._

"I think there may be a little problem with that part too." I sigh mournfully, making sure I milk this to the full.

"Why?" she growls again, the furious flush across her face accenting the blackheads on her cheekbones.

"Well, the person he's been seeing is…um…" pause for dramatic effect "A little bit…older than you're thinking."

"You mean a college student? I _knew_ I caught him looking at that girl the other day…!"

"I wish that was true. But it's worse than that." She stutters to a halt and stares at me.

"What could be worse than a college girl? …Unless-"

So the penny drops.

"An _adult_?"

I nod my head. Time for the big cheesy climax. Trying not to flinch at the sheer disgustingness of actually_ touching_ her, I take both her hands on mine and squeeze them gently, at though trying to comfort her. Shocked, she looks up at me again, giving me her full attention.

And here it comes.

"Samantha, I'm really sorry to tell you this, but Kyle Broflovski has been seeing my mother for the past month. And I don't mean just socially, but sexu-"

She jerks her hands away, goggle eyes burning behind her contact lenses. "I get it! Alright? I'm not stupid, Eric Cartman. I…I"

Suddenly, her hands drop to her lap and the fire dies from her eyes. Her head droops, shoulders sagging like a rag doll's, and I see a tiniest glimmer of tears in her big batty eyes. She looks like a rotting fish on Prozac.

"I-I knew it." She mumbles into her knees. "All this week I knew it. Right from the moment he asked me out so sweetly…I knew that…that…" She takes a long wet sniff and dabs one eyes with her sleeve, getting mascara everywhere. God, not the waterworks. This is too much. "_I knew I'd never be good enough for him_!" she bawls suddenly, shoulders heaving, and buries her fists into her eyes. "he-he's just too perfect, too handsome…to wonderful…I-"

But this was all I could stomach. Jew or no Jew, even Kyle wasn't worth tolerating this tripe for.

I pat her briskly on the shoulder until her tears stop (this happens quite quickly; I think I was patting just a little bit too hard…heh…)

"Samantha." She looks at me. Ugh she's got a bogey up her nose, I want to hurl. But I grit my teeth anyway and smile. Okay, so she hasn't reacted in the way I expected in round one. (noticeable lack of hormone induced brawling thus far) No problem. She's still an emotional wreck and all it needs is a little improvisation to really get her going.

Good thing improvising my specialty.

"Samantha, you are a…erm…you are a great girl. You really are." I lie through my teeth. "And I honestly think that someone as special as you is better off without Kyle. He doesn't deserve you."

"…r-really?" she quavers, snorting another globule of snot further up her nostril.

"Yeah." Stir in megawatt cheesy grin with gusto "Trust me, I've known him since we were little and…well…there's more to him than you think. Some things most people are better off not knowing about."

"Like what?" hah I've got her now. Hook, line and sinker.

"I don't know whether I should tell you this…"

"Go on! I-I think I should know now… After all I'm the one he's been cheating on..." She struggles to put on a brave face but I can see right through her. She just wants some ammo for the We-Hate-Kyle campaign she's going to have set up by tomorrow, I can see it in her eyes (trust me, I've seen that look a thousand times in the mirror every day).

Admirable sentiments, spotty.

"Well…"

"Go on!"

"He's…"

"He's what?" I sigh and massage my crappy hair as though weighing up my options.

"He's… gay, Sam."

"He's _what!_ But he went out with me, and I'm a girl!" _really?_ _I wouldn't be so sure about that, squirrel features._

"That's what makes it so despicable. I have nothing against gays, you know," oh the lies go on and on, don't they? "But when a boy_ denies_ his sexuality and takes advantage of a girl in order to save face…It just makes me sick. Wouldn't you agree?" her face is a perfect picture. I should have brought a camera…but the ugliness of her mug would have shattered the lens.

"_You mean he was pretending to go out with me just to look good for his friends_!"

I nod, glancing over at Kyle as I do so. A quick look at who he's talking to sends a fantastically evil idea coursing through my veins.

He's talking to Stan.

Oh. this will be just_ delicious_ if I plan it right…

"I'm sorry, Sam but its true." I murmur with theatrical melodrama. "Nevertheless, I also know that he doesn't deny his…preference…completely." I look over at the redhead and the jock again and smile to myself. "There is one boy that he has always had a particular soft spot for, if you know what I mean. Yes, and I'm sorry to say that he has wanted to 'be with' this person for a considerable length of time. He'd take any opportunity, you know… Of course the only reason why its not common knowledge already, is because it's been so closely guarded. Just for those in the know." I tap my nose smugly and drink in her fixated expression.

"You mean he's planning on cheating with this person? Cheating on me with a _second person_! Who are they! Tell me!" she looks so desperate it's laughable. My imagination scares me sometimes.

I put a friendly palm on her shoulder and steer her so she's looking over at Kyle and Stan as they stand chatting a few paces away. I see her look over at me and nod slowly to the unspoken question in her eyes.

"I didn't exactly say he was _planning_ to start anything with this person. How do you know that there's not something going on _right now_? How do you know that he's not cheating on you at this very moment? _Right in front of your eyes_?"

I can see the slow passage of thought all across her stunted features; Puzzlement, pondering, dawning realisation, then all out screaming horror.

"But Stan's not…Kyle can't…its not possible!" she gasps, chewing desperately on her scabby nails. Even I admit that it is a rather huge lie. I mean, they're two of the most desirable boys in school, both oozing heterosexuality like wrung sponge, the idea of _both _of them being gay…lets say its going to be hard to pull off.

I'm never one to believe in fate, but at that very moment came the most incredible coincidence I've ever witnessed in my life. Just as we both look up at Kyle, Samantha sniffling, myself triumphant, he laughs and leans over to Stan, grabbing him in a drunken hug and burying his nose into his best friend's collarbone like he never wanted to leave.

_Well if that doesn't scream FAG then I don't know what does!_

If it wasn't for Swedish crap making me sick, I would be turning cartwheels right now.

…and it was more than perfect enough to get little Sammy going.

"How DARE he?" she screams, and that's that. With a shriek like a banshee, she's up and flying across the room, stick limbs flapping everywhere. Everyone stops to stare as reaches her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend, seizing him by the collar and shoving him up against the wall with all the blind force of a charging rhino.

Someone turns off the music, plunging the room into an awestruck stillness.

"_HOW COULD YOU_?" she bellows into his bewildered face "HOW COULD YOU _DO_ THIS TO ME! YOU ARE A _MONSTER_, YOU JEWISH GINGER BASTARD! IT'S OVER, KYLE, AND I NEVER _EVER _WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!"

And that's it. No punch up, no bleeding nose, no rush to A&E, no nothing. Just a long inhuman caterwaul as Zit-Zillah slaps Kyle across the face, seizes her coat and storms out of the door without a backward glance. The door bangs back against the wall and shatters, both hinges breaking clean off.

It falls to the ground with a crash. The only sound in a stunned silence.

Nobody moves.

Seconds pass.

I think Kyle blinked, I'm not sure, but he appears to have forgotten how to breathe.

_Five seconds_

Heads are turning now, mouths moving but the words won't come. Everyone's just too shocked. It's not everyday that a sex god like Kyle is…._dumped_ so publicly, it just doesn't happen to people like him. Nobody can believe it.

_Oh it feels **glorious.**_

It's a full ten seconds before Kenny springs into action. With a wild, carefree whoop he leaps onto a coffee table and turns the HiFi up to full volume until the whole building pulses with sound.

"Who wants more drinks!" he screams to the crowd, grinning from ear to ear as he tosses more cans to people across the room.

Nothing moves.

Then, slowly but surely, the masses realise where they are and, blinking stupidly, begin to dance. Within seconds its as though nothing happened. Looking up, I smirk and see Kenny's muscular shoulders sag with ill-concealed relief. Looks like he's salvaged the party after all; Too bad I can't stick around

Magnificent as tonight's episode has been, someone's bound to have noticed that I was the last one seen talking with Sam and tell Kyle about it sooner or later. I can already see him in one corner, surrounded by his closest friends from the basketball team to mask him from the murmuring crowd.

Any one of those guys could take me. It doesn't take a genius to work that out.

But I can't risk walking by, just once, ears craning for that juicy snippet of heartbreak I've been wishing to hear for so long…

And fate smiles on me again, for the moment I walk past a plaintive voice wavers over the pumping music, the high-pitched, girly tones of our favourite little jew-boy.

"Jesus, Stan! I don't understand what happened either! I loved her, I really_ loved_ her. God, why did she dump _me_? What in the hell is _wrong _with me!"

I smirk as the front door closes behind me, hunching instinctively against the chill of the outside air. But I don't really feel the cold, oh no, the cruel warmth of satisfaction keeps me nice and toasty.

_I know exactly what's wrong with you, Jew. You're gay. Don't believe me yet? Well, I'll just have to make you see otherwise, won't I?_

The smile turns to a snigger as I reach the end of the driveway, and by the time I've made it back to my house it's a full blown laugh.

Yeah, I'm a cold-hearted obsessive bastard, get over it; I haven't had this much fun in ages.

The whole Samantha thing has given me confidence, so don't worry yourselves, hippies, there'll be many more mind games in store for our little Redheaded friend…

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_What can I say? Please review! My creativity depends on it_

- 6 -


	6. An Extra Seasoning of Asshole

Chapter 6 

An Extra Seasoning of Asshole

A/N: WOOO 21 reviews! Thank you all so much, every single one of you.Your fantasticcomments have been really encouraging! Thanks especially to the people who've reviewed more than once, meaning that they've been following the story as it gets added to. Please keep reviewing, I really appreciate it!

NB: This contains amini tribute to **amante fiel** who invented Token x Christophe as a pairing! It's so hot and I love u for it, though I could never write it myself! X3

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Nobody could stop talking about Kenny's party the next day. Unfortunately, the whole Kyle-and-Samantha thing didn't make headline gossip news because there'd been plenty of embarrassing material going round that night. (Who'd've thought Christophe and Token would get quite _that_ close after only a couple of Bacardis…God this town must be getting fag-disease or something.)

I flip off the two of them and call them fags in homeroom, provoking scattered laughter and two flaming red faces. Stupid gay pussies. The days' shitty with crap lessons and crappier teachers but I manage to struggle through as usual, indulging in my usual Jew-spotting. He's not as interesting today though; his moping face isn't nearly as much of a turn on as his anger or besotted-ness, more's the pity.

However, I'm stuffing some of my books in my locker after lunch break and something happens that freezes my podgy hand.

Could that be the delectably high-pitched tones of my tortured Kyle? And that simply can't be his ex girlfriend Samantha screaming at him so loudly? The bell rang ages ago so the hallways are deserted; the perfect place to have (and watch) an emotional showdown…

Ohh this is going to be priceless…

o0o

"What do you _want_, Broflovski?" Samantha's whiney tones echo down the corridors clearer than sonar. She sounds pissed as hell…no surprise there since she still believes her little ex-lover boy slept with my mom…and may have a deeper than appropriate friendship with Stan Marsh. I smirk again, congratulating myself, and shuffle closer to the lockers. This I _have_ to see. My belly still sticks out at least a hand-span into view but hey, it's about as good a hiding place as I'm going to get. Maybe if I just stay very still….

"I w-want to talk about the party, Sam. I still don't know why you-"

"Oh you don't, do you? Well just you think for a couple of seconds, alright? Use that so-called giant intellect of yours. Geez, Kyle, I know you said you liked a mature girlfriend but the truth's taking that_ much_ more seriously than you let me believe, isn't it?" HA! she's practically self-combusting over this. If only I could see Jew-fag's little face, that would really make my day.

"What? But Sam, I-"

"Sam_antha_ to you. I said only my _friends_ call me Sam." I hear Kyle draw a sharp breath, this has got to be killing him; Kyle Broflovski, cream of the redneck crop, isn't exactly used to rejection. Besides, I think gopher-girl was his first girlfriend anyhow, what a loser.

"Samantha then." He sounds polite, but doubtless his mother's inherited rage is boiling somewhere beneath that fiery afro. Come on, Kyle. Hit her. Do _some_thing. I always knew Jews were useless faggots when it comes to girls; he _has_ to be gay.

Another sigh. "Samantha. I'm sorry, I'm going to be honest with you. I-"

"About time!" she snaps. Kyle sighs but doesn't give up…or slap her or anything. Talk about a poor show. Instead he launches forth with this load of absolute fluffy bullshit. Listen;

"I…I really like you, okay? I don't know how to say this but there's something about you. W-when I asked you out, I told you how nervous I was, right? I still feel like that now, like I don't deserve you. We were so happy… do you think I'd throw away our relationship just like that?" (ouch, cliché) cue dramatic pause. "…I don't know what you think I did, Sam, but I can't apologise until I know."

"Bollocks!" Zit-zillah snaps back, but she doesn't sound so angry now. "So _I'll_ be honest with _you_ now, shall I? Did you or did you not sleep with Cartman's mum? You have three seconds to come clean. One…"

"What the fuck?" His scream almost makes me laugh out loud; that girly voice just cracks me up. "Who told you that?"

"Cartman."

Shit. Suddenly the whole plan involving my mum doesn't seem to smart after all; traces the whole damn thing right back to me.

"And you believe that ten-ton hunk of bullcrap?" _thanks for that, Kyle._ "Do I really look like the kind of guy that would…_y'know_…with Mrs _Cartman_? That's Kenny's scene not mine, and I doubt even he would stoop that low."

I can see her melting. It's just something in his voice; that full blown Semite intensity that just_ convinces_ you completely that he alone is right, no matter what he's telling you.

"…really?"

"Really. And anyways, how many times has _Cartman_ been honest with anyone? I haven't got a clue what his plan is this time but lets make sure it doesn't work on us, okay?"

"Okay…"she mumbles. Ugh, what is this? Some lame-ass soap opera re-run?

"Willing to give this another chance? To give _me _another chance?"

Duh. Come on, Broflovski, even I can see the big soppy grin plastered all over her buck-toothed face. She tilts her head to the side with this rubbish attempt at flirtatiousness and takes a step towards the blushing faggot.

"Okay. But you'll have to apologise to me _properly _after class…"

Samantha smiles shyly (another repulsive flash of brace) and, putting hand on Kyle's shoulder, leans in and brushes her lips briefly against his cheek, making sure one of her fingers twines around one of his carroty curls.

"See you later." She murmurs before stepping back and turning away, heading off for class with many a simperingly longing glance. Disgusting.

Jew-fro stays out for a minute of two, giving her a tiny wave of farewell (CORNY!) before dropping his hand with a sigh.

I shift a bit in my hiding place, time to go. I'll have to walk fast if I want to get back to class before he does-

But what he says next damn near stops my heart

"You can come out now, Cartman."

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_(A/N: NOOOO SPOTTED! XD)_

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Shit. No, really. SHIT.

I'm in SO much trouble now. Kyle turns to face me now, emerald eyes like search beams into my soul. The very sight of him makes my limbs turn to water; there's just no arguing with that stunning gaze.

Trying to stop my knees knocking, I step into view and fix him with an arrogant smile. Yeah, of course I did this deliberately, but I don't like being caught out…at least not like this where I'm in serious danger of getting my ass kicked by a gorgeously scrawny asshole less than half my size.

He moves suddenly and I flinch, cursing myself as I realise he was only folding his arms. Great, now I look like a pussy.

"Right. I'm asking this only once." He pins me with a glare that even his mum would have be proud of and delivers his ultimatum. "What is with you and the fact that I'm going out with Sam? Jealousy? A practical joke? Or just your familiar attempt at adding an extra seasoning of asshole to my life?"

I smirk at that. He's threatening to beat me up and yet he still retains that oh-so-superior-element, typical.

Good thing I have a comeback planned.

"I was just trying to help you." I smirk "You'll have to come out about being a little fairy faggot sooner or later and believe me, its going to be so much easier without rodent-features in tow."

"She's not a…! Wait! What the fuck Cartman! I'm NOT GAY!"

"Yeah, sure, You just keep telling yourself that."

"I'm NOT! …Look-" he holds up a fist to cut me off and my objection dies on my lips. "Just don't say _anything_ to me, alright? Just shut your mouth for just one second. I don't know what you're trying to pull with all this rumor spreading bullcrap and I actually don't care. As long as it doesn't come between me and Sam, got that? The only reason why you're not on the floor right now in a nice big bloody mess is because I've known you since we were eight. But I don't mind the idea of forgetting all that right now and knocking you out anyway. Just stay out of my life, Cartman, or we're both going to do something we regret."

Three strides and he's gone, satchel swinging out of sight round a bend in the corridor. I stay standing there for a minute or two, trying to work out why I'm not bleeding somewhere. But it's only a minute or two, mind you, it doesn't take longer then that before I've brushed it all off and am waddling off to class like I haven't a worry in the world.

So yesterday's scenario wasn't enough? No problem. I'd just have to think of something a little more…_final_.

The possibilities are endless…

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_Haha he's so evil… It's really nice not to have to write from a goody-two-shoes point of view for once…XD_

_And in case you're wondering, Sam doesn't mention the whole Kyle+Stan accusation because Cartman didn't have time to convince her as fully as he did about Kyle sleeping with Cartman's mum. No worries though, its definitely going to come up later! ;D_

_SLASHY GOODNESS NEXT CHAPTER…BUT ONLY IF YOU LURKERS REVIEW!_


	7. Vengeance

Chapter 7

Vengeance 

_YAY Fanfiction is up and running again! I've been trying to submit this for at leastthe last three days grrr._

_Thanks for all the reviews! You make me smile every time I get one X3_

PS: This chapter contains reasonable levels of slash so I am therefore embarassed as I suck at writing that kind of thing (hence the shortness of it) so PLEASE review and tell me what you think/how to improve etc...!

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_Two hours later…_

"Jew-fag."

"Shut up."

"Bitch-spawn."

"Shut_ up_."

"Ginger Gaywad."

"Cartman…"

"Ass-wipe."

"Cartman, if you don't stop right n…"

"Bumfucker."

"RIGHT! THAT'S IT!" A certain succulent Jew-boy leaps up from his chair, slamming whatever religious crap he's reading on to the desk beside him with a crack that may well have shattered all four of its legs.

_Temper, temper Jew-fro; this is a library after all_

The whole class is staring at us now, even Stan and Wendy have stopped making out behind the fiction section to watch.

Heh…obviously our little one-sided feud wasn't as subtle as I thought…

"Something wrong, dearest Kyle?" I simper, clasping my pudgy hands together in an attempt at innocence. I'm not fooling anyone but, as planned, this winds him up even more.

"If you insult me one more time them I'm going to smash your fat f-"

"Insult you? Why what do you mean, oh king of the superdorks? Oh queen of all the fairy gaywads? Oh-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" One fist grabs my throat, the other slamming the chair out of the way as he strides round the table to get a better shot at me.

_Come on, Kyle, you don't want this nearly as much as I do._

"Ahem." A tiny cough sends an immediate freeze frame over the whole scene. Kyle jerks round, still holding me up by my collar, and stares at Mr. Mackey in shock; it's probably the first time the little suck-up's got into trouble in his whole butt-kissing life. I feel his fist shake beneath my jaw as Mr Mackey speaks again, but his reply shocks everyone, even my cynical self.

"Ermmm fighting is _bad_, m'kay? We don't fight in libraries. You kids just take your problems outside, m'kay? Give you boys a little time alone to…erm…sort things out."

Oh the Jew-boy's expression is priceless. A livid mix of relief, frustration and barely suppressed rage. His eyes snap round to meet mine the moment Mr Mackey finishes his little speech, smouldering with that damn sexy Jewish rage.

"Fine." He practically spits at me, before dragging me forcibly by the collar through the swinging double doors and out into the hallway, the stunned silence of our study lesson fading away beneath the echoing clatter of his fuming footsteps.

I follow behind (like I had much of a choice with his thumb embedded in my voice box), trying to hide my satisfied grin. _Ohhh this is going to be good…_

He drags me out into the schoolyard, out of sight of those glassy windows and the prying eyes of our classmates. Doors bang and hinges break in his wake, leaving a trail of flaming destruction behind his radiant rage.

After about a minute he lets go of my throat and grabs my forearm. His fingers bite tight, like a vice around my wrist, it's painful, but my body tingles all the same. Contact at last.

Skin to skin.

The playground's deserted. Of course. All those snotty nosed brats would've gone back to gluing fairy sequins on stuff or whatever-the-hell they do, hours ago. Just him and me now. Tucked out of sight between the Maths and English blocks, enclosed on three sides by wall, the other by open sky.

Alone.

He shoves me up against the wall, pinning me easily with one long white arm, toned to perfection by all those hours on the basketball pitch. Even his fist is flawless as he waves it in my face, flooding my ears with threatening words that just don't seem to register. All I can feel is his breath on my cheek, the heat of his palm on my shoulder, the tiny twitch of a pulse on the sensitive skin of his neck…

"What the hell, Cartman? What is it this time? Moses, I know you and me like to piss each other off but this has gone too fucking far! This _is_ about Sam, isn't it? Just tell me what you want and leave me the hell alone, got that?"

"But-" Now would be a good time for a suave comeback, genius, pity you can't stop staring at his lips as he speaks…that cute way he pouts when he snarls just snatches the words away…

_How long did I dream for this moment? I'm in fucking heaven …but it hurts like hell._

"But what!"

Careful Kyle, or one of us is going to do something we'll regret…or wish we regretted.

He must have seen the predatory look in my eyes for his face withdraws a little, the fist dropping to his side. I feel his grip loosen on my shoulder and give him a many chinned leer. Perfect.

I move fast, lightening fast considering my size, and suddenly it not him doing the pinning anymore. I hear him gasp as my two hundred pound weight backs him up against the brick wall. I note the tantalising hint of fear in his eyes with vicious satisfaction. Good. Payback time, as they say…

"But." I grin, eyes dancing as he squirms. It takes him all of ten seconds to realise there's no way out; flab wins over muscle hands down. With a growl of rage he jerks his head up defiantly, eyes flashing like steely diamonds as they bore into mine… Despite myself, my heart skips a beat

_Goddammit, he's trapped, helpless and red-faced with rage…how can he still be hot as hell!_

"What?" He snarls into my face. So close. So fucking close. You're asking for it Kyle, you're really asking for this.

"But…"

"But WHAT, Fatass? What the fu- !" Oh how I love to hear that pretty little girl voice scream with rage. Too bad he's taking too long. For at that moment my patience finally runs out; this is my moment and Eric Cartman's not one to let it slip past him. One hand clasps his neck, the other winds round his waist, crushing his skinny little frame into my massive hold. He gasps, winded, but that doesn't last long, for a heartbeat later I've swooped down on him, crushing his cursing mouth to mine.

Revenge never felt so sweet

Until a very familiar voice screeches across the yard at us, that is…

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO MY BOYFRIEND?"

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_Oooh, shall I end it there? What do you think? XD_


	8. And It All Comes Crashing Down

Chapter 8

And It All Comes Crashing Down

N.B: WOAH this chapter took me a long time! Seriously, I've had this story written for about a month now, all but this chapter and the one after it. I've added the odd sentence but always got bored or deleted loads because it sounded cliché…bah for perfectionism…!

Please R+R! Any feedback would be fantastic:)

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… He tastes so _good_.

Seriously, if Cheesy Poofs were anywhere near as delicious as the boy in my arms, you wouldn't be able to prize me away from the crisps aisle.

But the feeling isn't exactly mutual.

Everyone's favourite redhead squeaks and squirms helplessly against the wall, palms pressed desperately to my chest, trying with all his might to dislodge me. Poor bastard, I think even he knows it's no use. I smirk into his mouth and feel him shudder in horror.

There's nothing in this world that will make me let go of you now, Kyle…

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO MY BOYFRIEND?"

Except that.

o0o

The two of us snap apart as a furious yowl tears across the schoolyard, followed closely by Samantha's ratty frame.

Ugh, could anything be more_ vile_?

Spidery arms a-waving, face crimson with raging acne, hair fizzling round her face like some electrocuted birds nest…her fingers grasping for the angel blushing furiously at my side.

The wiry crow swoops in and Jew-boy has his third close encounter with the wall that day. Ouch, he's going to feel that tomorrow, not that I really care.

In fact, I can't stop grinning.

This has got to be the best day of my gayass life. Seriously.

o0o

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"

"Sam? I-I can explain…I-"

"Can you now? I wouldn't bother because it won't be anything I don't already know."

"wh-wh-wghaght?" emerald eyes widen, trembling with horror, his Super-Jew powers of persuasion shrunk to a single diminished wheeze. Pathetic.

_And_ it gives Samantha another opportunity to strike.

"It's not as though it wasn't _obvious_, Broflovski! It's not as though I couldn't have guessed without seeing…" she trails off, swallowing disgustedly "…_that_ just now. But good thing your not-so-little boyfriend here helped me along, though he wasn't exactly honest about the _person_ involved-"

"Sam, I…um… listen to me…?" Jew-fro's mouth was twitching fit to bust, brimming over with words of anger, dismissal, apology….clever words that could no doubt have turned the girl's head in seconds….but the kiss had left him reeling, clogging all his witty bullcrap back beneath his tongue where it belonged.

I'd like it say the reeling was a romantic swoon, the glowing after effects of kissing the love of his life…

…but to be honest he looked more like he was going to barf.

"Sam what're you…"

"You just don't get it do you?"

"I-"

"HE TOLD ME YOU WERE GAY, ASSWIPE! At Kenny's party when you were too busy coming onto Stan to dance with me!"

"Coming onto _Stan_? Samantha! Stan's str-"

"That's NOT the point!" God, I can see her tonsils going from all the way over here (behind Kyle and out of range of the spittle she's currently spraying everywhere). "Puh-_lease_; you were basically snogging his neck when we looked up and saw you, you can't deny it!

And even if you could blame that on the booze how do you explain being backed up against the wall exchanging saliva with the fatass you told me you hated even more than Paris Hilton? I may be top of the class, Kyle, but even _I_ didn't see that one coming- DON'T argue with me!" The last sentence is punctuated by a ringing slap across Kyle's face as he finally finds the air to reply.

"So were you in on this little plan? Did you instruct _him_," she jabs a skinny finger in my direction "to lead me off track? But don't worry, I may be ignorant but I'm not fucking blind."

"S-"

Another slap. She must be as tired of this grovelling as I am

"Save it Kyle. You can fuck a thousand fatasses for all I care."

And that's it. With one scorchingly repulsed glare in her ex boyfriend's direction, Samantha Saint-Claire turns tail and stalks off towards the school-buses, leaving behind a deserted playground, dust clouds, and a redhead who is most definitely going to kill me within the next ten seconds.

…

here it comes

…

"YOU…MOTHER…FUCKING…ASSHOLE!"

Whack. Straight in the jowls.

My world goes white and I feel my lips spurt stinging blood from my chin to my forehead. Eyes scrunched shut, I topple backwards like a felled tree, landing with a rib-cracking _oomph _smack in the dirt. I spit red drool out of my mouth and manage to squeeze open a swollen eye in to see Kyle's battered pair of converses on a collision course for my crotch.

**Fucking**_ **HELL**_

-Jews may be retards in so many ways, but one thing they sure as hell can do is _kick_.-

Fuck this'll have me talking like Wendy for a week.

A shadow falls across my face and I start as I hear Kyle breathe acidly into my ear.

"Touch me again asshole and, so help me, I'll castrate you myself."

One last kick (thanks god not as hard as before) and I hear his footsteps fading fast across the yard. Leaving me bruised, bleeding and alone.

But it doesn't matter.

A grin leers across my face for a moment, before my split lips force it closed with a wince.

You may hurt me all you like, little Jew-boy, but you know the truth as well as I do.

I've already won.

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_Okay, this story has now reached a crucial point where it can go either way. Question is; should Cartman and Kyle a) get closer, or b) should Kyle just punch Cartman into the dust and have done with it? (I know which one I prefer hehe) I don't mind either way, and I'll write whatever you want, readers, just REVIEW AND VOTE! …(cough)…! _


	9. SOS JewBoy

Chapter 9

SOS Jew-Boy

Author's Note: WOW long chapter! I really got into this one and repeatedly frightened myself with the amount of emotion that came out when I was writing it. Scary teenage angst, I suppose.

And by the way, those who don't already hate Sam seriously will by the end of this chapter. I'm also very,_ very_ mean to Kyle, so don't forget to give him a hug.

**# hugs Kyle like a retard #**

**Kyle: GET OFF ME YOU WIERDO! It's_ your _fault this is happening to me!**

**Me: #turns bright red with shame# _uhm_….**

…

Ps: Frizzelation is my new favourite word hehe

PPS: And I'm really sorry Brofolvskifan, but please keep reading this fic as things do improve for Kyle soon! Honest! He just has to hit a low first or the story I have in mind won't work!

PPPS: the winner of the vote was...A! So Kyle and Cartman will probably get closer! XD

PPPPS: and it's LATE! So late! I'm really _really_ sorry but have been holidaying in Turkey and forgot to post it before I went…forgive me?

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_mini-chapter-prologue-thing:_

On the outskirts of South Park, inside a uniformly perfect white house and behind a spotlessly blue front door, Miss Samantha Saint-Claire sat down by the phone and began to dial.

_Ring…ring…ring…_

_Ring…ring…ring…_

_When in the hell was he going to pick up!_ The pizza-faced brunette wondered irritably, picking at a zit in her hairline as the rings went on and on. This had to be her third time of trying but she refused to give up. If she didn't contact him today (right this_ moment_ in fact) then she was seriously going to explode.

_Ring…ring…ring…_

C'mon c'_mon_! Pick up you stupid jock! I know you're there!

_Ring…ring...ri_-**_click!_**

"Hello?"

**_Finally_!**

"Stan Marsh?"

"Erm yeah. Is this Samantha? …Look, can it wait til later 'cause I've got a soccer game and-"

"Trust me. You'll want to hear this." The venomous curl in her words made Stan's stomach twist. What could his best friend's girlfriend want from_ him_ of all people? Surely she had Kyle…

"Uh, okay Sam, shoot." He mumbled down the line, settling himself on the sofa and slowly letting his face turn from curiosity, to surprise, to shock, to all out screaming revulsion. By the time he said his shaky goodbyes and hung the phone back in its cradle, only one thing was left blazing across his mind, livid as a scar.

He was_ never_ going to speak to Kyle again.

o0o

_Actual chapter (CPOV once Kyle gets to school in case that's confusing anyone)_

Kyle Broflovski woke up that morning with a smile on his face. Grinning from ear to ear, he kicked off his duvet covers, shrugged on a plain shirt and jeans and ran a comb through his fuzzy copper hair (the brushing was the only thing saving it from complete frizzleation these days) and made his way downstairs.

He couldn't understand it, but he felt happier than he had been in days. The redheaded teen beamed at his family as he entered the kitchen and sat down at the breakfast table, helping himself to cereal and wolfing it down with gusto, enjoying his parent's mystified faces.

Yesterday had been crazy, granted, but the darkness and misery of Kenny's party seemed to have receded to nothing in the light of day. He really regretted upsetting Samantha, however. For all her paranoia and tantrums, he still loved her, and after years with his psycho mother he knew exactly how to clam her down…most of the time.

And as for Cartman…

The grin dimmed, the cheeky curves at the ends of his rosy lips turning slowly downward. The spoon halted its shovelling and sat sulkily in his half empty bowl, swimming in cereal that suddenly wasn't so appetising.

_-The rasp of the brick wall against his back, the way his lungs screamed, burning for air, for space, his slender body crushed beneath this overbearing weight-_

Then the kiss….

_**Stop!** Don't think about it! It was completely wrong and disgusting but you spent three hours last night using up a whole bottle of mouthwash to get rid of it, remember? Besides, it was hardly a kiss; you weren't exactly responding! Should've done a Stan and puked into his mouth or something; teach the ugly freak a lesson…_

But the punch had probably done that anyway

The smirk returned as the skinny redhead remembered the sight of his archenemy lying on the playground floor, bloody nose leaking down to the grit beneath him. He'd be sporting a split lip and blacked eyes this morning without a doubt.

Kyle loaded up his spoon again, finished his meal then bolted for the door, snatching his hat and jacket in the process and praying he would get to the stop in time to talk to Stan before the bus arrived. That way there would be plenty of time to have a long laugh at Cartman's expense

Everyone would be calling him 'Fagass' now!

The chuckling Semite put on another burst of speed, looking forward to the day ahead.

Little did he know it was to be the worst of his life.

o0o

He nearly missed the bus that morning, so no talk with Stan beforehand. And for some strange reason when he tried to say hi, his best friend walked right past him and sat down next to Kenny without a glance in his direction. Well, Stan had had his headphones in; maybe he just hadn't heard.

For the first time in his life, Kyle got a seat to himself that day, for the moment he bend down to sit the person beside him got up and walked away. However, still high on his happy mood, the cheerful Jew chose to ignore the strange barricade of silence, plugging in his own headphones and staring out of the window all the way there, oblivious to all the hateful looks and whispers flying around behind him.

But it wasn't long before he realised.

Not along at all.

o0o

Nobody talked to him in homeroom.

Or in his first class.

Or the second.

At lunch break he tried to sit with his friends, but a wall of burning eyes smacked him in the back the moment he arrived in the canteen. Then some horrible cruel person (wonder who…) started chanting.

_Fag…Fag…Fag…Fag…_

It spread like wildfire, one table, then another, then another until only one was left silent. The one table that Kyle had fixed his gaze on this whole time. One table. One seat. One person.

Our table.

Back seat.

Stan Marsh.

_Fag…Fag…Fag…FAG_

The chant grew louder and louder, someone in the back corner starting up a percussion beat. One for every word.

You know what? I think it might even have been zit-zillah.

_BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!_

_FAG! FAG! FAG! FAG!_

I'm sitting less than three steps away from him, fingers wedged in my trademark bucket of fries. Ketchup runs down my chin as I watch him standing there, clutching his tray to his chest, emerald eyes like beacons, flashing SOS to anyone who would listen.

Too bad nobody would.

Eyes glowing with crystal tears, the broken Semite looks his best friend straight in the eyes, biting his lips to stop them quivering as they spell out a single name.

"Stan…"

_Help me dude, please save me, this is Kyle, remember? You're soulmate, your closest ally ever since you can remember, your "super best friend"….Just do something, Stan… Please…?_

And Stan did do something. But something not even I, in all my conniving glory, would ever have expected.

Slowly, the muscled youth got to his feet, shushing the chanting with one flick of his arm. An awful hush descends, even the dinner ladies halt their yakking to watch, I can feel everyone hanging on each breath….waiting for the axe to fall.

"Stan?" Kyle asks again, his voice just that little bit stronger. His back just a little bit straighter. His gaze just a little bit brighter with a tentative thread of hope.

Wrong move, Jew-fro.

Blue meets green, emotion crackling back and forth for no more than a second, before the former begins to move. His arms lift from his sides, moving together in leaden slow motion.

Clap.

And again.

Clap.

Kyle's eyes widen, mouth falling open as he realises his last and most precious defence has fallen. His fingers slip, sending his tray clattering to the floor in smithereens as the beat starts up again, timed perfectly by the hands of his lifelong best friend.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

FAG. FAG. FAG. FAG.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

FAG FAG FAG FAG

BAMBAMBAMBAMCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP

FAGFAGFAGFA-

"I'm NOT!" The cornered redhead screams, hair blazing furiously despite the tears in his eyes. God, even now he still looks beautiful, like some fucking martyr dying before the masses.

But looking at his face, I think the martyrs had it easy.

Polished flooring squeaks underfoot as the terrified Jew turns tail and runs, banging through the canteen door and away into the halls, a sea of laughter, beats and chants hounding him until he reaches the safety of the yard.

Safe.

Or maybe not.

For just as he leans over to catch his breath, chest heaving with great gasping sobs, a voice colder than ice purrs into his ear.

"Going somewhere, faggot?"

o0o

Kyle screamed as his back hit the wall, then his side, then his face, then his back again. Each time his skull thwaking into the brick hard enough for another star shower to burst before his eyes. Blood ran in hot, sticky rivulets down his hairline, his nose and from the countless cracks in his chapped, swollen lips.

Craig, Token and Clyde made sure they took turns so that the pain never let up, even as the minutes ticked on and on. The other two would linger whilst the third seized him around the throat, delivered whatever punishment he saw fit, before moving away with a leer, making sure the victim had only seconds before the torture began again.

Kyle's vision was going black, colours sliding in and out of focus until only the pain and the faces remained, the words nothing but dull booms somewhere way above his head.

Some time later, as he took his turn, Craig's grip on the Jew's collar slipped a little, exposing the bruise on his neck where Cartman had grabbed him as he forced their faces together. Seeing Kyle wince, the boy in blue glanced down and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Ugh, Kyle, is that a_ HICKEY_! Sick dude! Bet the fatass left lots of those, didn't he?" Craig smirked and, meeting the redhead's horrified gaze, began walking his fingers seductively down Kyle's collar, ribs and stomach as he spoke. "All. The. Way… _Down_." The black haired boy's fist crashed down and in, delivering a punch to Kyle's guts so hard that his world went white with pain.

With a gasp and a moan, the redhead felt his body scissor over to bend double, knees shaking as he slid to the floor, the mucky gunk of the playground staining his favourite jeans.

"I…I didn't do anything! I couldn't stop-"

"…snogging his face off? Yeah, we know, Kyle. The whole fucking school knows. Sam told Stan last night and practically every single other person in the phone book. So, lets give you a few pointers for the future, shall we?" he grinned sideways at Token who flexed his dark skinned fists and leered down, flashing teeth bared with fierce loathing.

In one fluid movement, Craig grabbed Kyle by the hair and pulled him up so their faces where level. Nose to nose the dark-haired boy leaned in and whispered against Kyle's tear-stained cheek. "Next time you decide to engage in your little faggy episodes together, make sure you do it somewhere public okay? I'd just _love_ to have an excuse to beat you up again."

He released Kyle abruptly, throwing him back into the dirt like Christophe would do to a discarded cigarette end.

"Oh, and by the way…you snitch on us and I'll get some of Kenny's big brother's mates on you too. No joke."

Kyle looked up at him through bleary, blackened lids, too sore to speak even if he had wanted to.

"See you tomorrow, assfucker." Craig spat, flipping him off one last time before stalking off towards the school gates, Token and Clyde close behind.

A pair of emerald eyes watched them go, filled with the memory of another person, lying like this in the dust barely twenty four hours ago, only it had been Kyle that had put him there.

Cartman's revenge had come without him lifting a finger.

As this last thought formed in his mind, the battered Jew laid his head in his hands and let out a single shuddering sob.

Nothing stung bitterer than irony.

o0o

It took Kyle a full twenty minutes before he could work up the courage and the strength to move.

Wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand, the trembling teen moved to stand, wincing as he discovered hundreds of new bruises, already turning his pale skin a deep purpley black.

He'd missed the bus by miles now, but even if he hadn't he doubted that he'd have the courage to face Craig again…or Stan…or Cartman.

Retaliation was hopeless; in a fair fight it was obvious the fatass would win. Kyle may have been fit and strong from basketball, but when it came down to size…even Wendy had managed to overtake him in the last semester. Beating up a skinny little Jew-boy was far too easy, as Craig had just so skilfully demonstrated, and without a single friend to back him up, it was useless to even try. In just one day, Kyle Broflovski had found himself at the rock bottom of the social scale with no hope of rising again.

The fire died from the redhead's eyes as he made his way across the schoolyard and out into the road. It was eight miles home from here; he'd probably just get in before nightfall. Resigned for the long cold hours ahead, Kyle pulled his hat down over his bloodshot eyes and set his face to the wind, an odd desperation flaring in his chest.

No friends. No looks. No respect. No girlfriend. Nothing.

He had nothing left to lose.

o0o

Three and a half hours later, the oldest Broflovski boy arrived at his front door, letting himself in with a relieved sigh. Home at last.

"I'm baaaaack!" he yelled, shedding his outdoor gear and stumbling into the hallway. His mother would no doubt be preparing dinner, his father chatting to her as he read the paper, and Ike would be upstairs playing with that crazy science kit he got for Christmas…

Silence.

No cooking smells, no voices, no laughter, no explosions from his little brother's room…just the ticking of the hall clock and a feeling of silent emptiness.

"H-hello?" Kyle took another step forward, rubbing his forearms absently; someone had forgotten to turn on the heating…something his mother vowed never ever to do after last year's big freeze…

Worry twisting in his stomach, Kyle peered into the kitchen, the lounge, the upstairs bedrooms, heart beating faster and faster as he found room upon empty room.

"Mom? Dad? Ike?"

The house was deserted.

Staggering back downstairs, Kyle's feet slipped on something and he had to grab the banister rail to steady himself. Reaching down, he plucked the offending object from its resting place on the bottom step and peered at it, face draining of all colour as he realised what it was.

A note. From his mother.

_Hello Kyle_

_Staying late doing extra study today, were you? There's my diligent little Bubbalah! It is a pity we couldn't say goodbye to you, especially as it's so sudden, but I am afraid we had no choice._

_I'm sorry Buhbie, but your grandmother in Louisiana has fallen ill and Gerald, Ike and I are flying out to see her. We should be back in about a week so there's no need to worry, you're a big boy now and I'm sure you can take care of yourself._

_There's dinner in the freezer, don't forget to call us and tell us how you are getting on!_

_Mom_

The note was achingly sweet-toned. He could feel his mother's guilt practically seeping through the page. Good. She deserved to feel bad about doing this to him.

Sheila's handwritten words seemed slowly to drain the life out of her son, Kyle's shoulders slumped and the note fluttered brokenly to the floor. He stood limply for several minutes, vision blurred by hopeless tears.

He was alone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"But _WHY_?" the howl escaped him before he could stop it, ringing out through the house in one endless note, fuelled with all the tears and hurt and despair that had been welling up inside him ever since that morning at the bus stop.

He's lost everything, everything he'd ever cared about, everything that had ever mattered.

_There was no point to anything anymore._

The scream died away, leaving a gulf of loneliness even deeper than before.

Slowly, silently, Kyle Broflovski slid to his knees in the middle of his freezing hallway, and cried until he could cry no more.

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#phew!# a heck of a lot of anger went into that...and I know most people don't like the thought of guys crying, but I have two brothers and I am pretty sure that anybody with a heart would have cried after a day_ that_ horrible.

One last question: should I continue this story? To be honest I'm having second thoughts : (

anyone else got some story ideas for me? I will write anything...


	10. The Only One Who Cares

The Only One Who Cares

WOW so many lovely reviews! #sniff# I love you guys…

Another mournful chapter. Poor Kyle.

Don't worry though, the end is in sight

(oh, and as for the reference to brass monkeys...those who don't know, don't ask!)

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_Cartman Interlude:_

A day in the life of a fatass begins with a yawn, a scratch and a scowl. Each morning at 7:30 my frigging alarm goes off and I wake up, punching the crap out of it before going through this familiar routine, refusing to budge until my mum can tempt me downstairs with the unmistakeable aroma of thick pancakes and golden syrup.

Yum.

But today is different.

I scowl every day because I am remembering. My brows knitting together as all the messed yup shit (The things that annoyed me, the things I have still to avenge, the masterplans that crumbled yesterday… and most of all; the people I hate) bubbles to the surface in a great muddy mess.

Guess who's first on the hate list.

Clue: It's skinny, pale, and has a Jew-fro so immense that without products it makes him look like a great fuzzy microphone.

…

But not today.

No.

...Because there's nothing left today. No masterful plottings to bring the ginger genius to his knees, no fag-related rumours to spread, no emotional manipulation to shatter the bond between the indomitable Super Best Friends….nothing.

Dangerous rumours spread: Check

Removal of Girlfriend: Check

Removal of Best Friend: Check

Social annihilation: Check

Induced suicidal misery: Check

Well Done, fatass.

Mission accomplished.

…

I pause as I pull on my shirt, letting it fall to my waist as my eyes catch my reflection in the mirror. For some reason, it doesn't look the same as it did yesterday… maybe because this is the first time I've bothered to look for more than half a second; glaring upon your own blubber is bad for your health and will invariably put you off a certain oozingly syrupy breakfast.

An oozingly syrupy breakfast I sure as hell want to be wolfing down _right_ **_now_**

…so why am I still hesitating?

So what's wrong? There's nothing unusual as far as I can tell.

I see a broad-shouldered teenager looking back at me, mouse-arse brown hair just growing back at odd, spiky angles that would have looked stylish on Stan Marsh, but give Cartman a vague resemblance to a slouching pineapple. He's got a rounded face and strong chin, dark brows pulled moodily over ice blue eyes that are probably his best feature. Eyes scoot downwards and…holy _shit _since when did I actually go_ in_ at the waist! Sure, there's a bit of a belly there but underneath that there's something that could almost be muscle…

God_damnit_ my mind must be screwed today. I'm goggling at my reflection like a fucking _girl_.

But still…

…

I do frown this morning, but not the same "_The-Antichrist-Has-Woken" _leer that I've been perfecting since first grade. It's more…sad. More…confused.

The frown of a boy who suddenly doesn't know what to live for.

o0o

START:

_Three and a half weeks later._

o0o

The night hangs crisp and still over the mountains, too fucking cold for even the birds to show their feathered butts outside. Stars glare down from the black swathe of space, aiming it spitefully just so it hits my bedroom curtains, lighting up my room brighter than a bulb and stopping me from getting one wink of sleep.

I roll over with a groan, making the bedsprings beneath me twang in pain, and squint blearily at the alarm clock.

Twelve frigging thirty.

There really is no god.

I've woken up at this time every day for past week, almost to the exact second… ever since I saw him that first time.

...You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you? retarded hippies.

Guess I'll have to backtrack:

o0o

Anyone who knows Kyle knows he's the 'good guy'. The Intelligent one, the Good-looking one (well, except Stan but he's stupid cute and there's a definite difference), the Sensible One with every single goddamned teacher slash adult slash god around on his fucking side. It's been that way ever since I made my first masterplan, or the first fucked up thing happened in South Park.

The Jew always wins.

_But not anymore_;

Kyle never recovered after that day. When he stumbled into school two days later, bruised and breathing hard after sneaking in late to avoid Craig's gang, the teacher raised an eyebrow. But the bastard only went back to his register, ticking off another name as everyone else sniggered behind their hands.

Break time doled out another pattern of bruises, finger marks around his neck and a long thin cut running from wrist to elbow. I remember he showed it to some girl and she just edged away, calling him a cutter and starting off another round of jeers.

He kept his mouth shut after that.

The next day was the same, and the day after, and the day after that. Nearly a month of madness and messed up shit, where I don't think even those at the bottom of the social food chain dared to speak to him. Kyle the hot, popular basketball captain became Kyle the lonely gay nerd without a friend in the world. I even heard he lost his place on the sports team…hey, even teachers have prejudices. The beatings from Craig stopped after the first week though, I heard Stan had something to do with it but that was just a rumour; everyone else believed they'd all just got bored.

Nobody bothered me of course. I was Cartman. The stupid hippies knew that if they had a problem, then they could fucking deal with it and nothing they could say was going to faze me. The realisation that I was gay just gave them another cause to hate me, and me another reason to be even less merciful (if possible) in exploiting them in the future.

Jew-boy took it harder though. Hardly surprising really; I don't think he'd been without a friend since he was_ born, _not with Mr Jock Marsh having a boner for him since forever. As the days passed, I watched the spark in his big green eyes dim, flicker, then fade until only a tiny bitter glint remained; the dregs of another broken spirit.

I sit and watch him sometimes, the odd glance across the classroom, silent scrutiny from round a bend in the corridor or the back seat of the bus. Catching every lost look, the broken heart behind his eyes, the glimmering of tears when he thinks that he's alone at last.

…But he's not really there.

The Kyle I always knew is dead, leaving a tiny, pathetic shell in his wake. He even seems smaller, he was never that big to start off with but now…even the girls make him look tiny. Even the glow of his hair is diminished to a dejected simmer.

Has anybody else noticed the pain in his gaze? Can anybody else feel the loneliness spilling into the air around him?

Well if they do, they sure as hell aren't going to do anything about it.

Just me. Always me.

I know this sounds fucked up, even I would have slugged you if you'd suggested such a thing a month ago but…but I think…

I think I'm the only one who cares.

o0o

Then, last Wednesday I think, I woke up randomly in the middle of the night, blinking stupidly as I tried to figure out the cause. Nothing special happening; silent blackness everywhere and the air cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.

But then I start, flying up in bed (as much as I could 'fly' with my reams of stomach) and yanking open my curtains as the sound of footsteps sound clearly from the road beyond.

The footsteps are even, going at a quick and even pace with the tiniest sigh of breath with each one, as though the person has been running for some time at this speed.

Now that really threw me. Nobody in South Park ever runs,_ ever_; Not even Stan's mum to keep in shape. A quick shuffle's good enough for south park-ians at the best of times, otherwise forget it.

So who…?

It only takes me a minute to find out.

The figure's wearing a deep green tracksuit, the hood falling loosely over the face so that only their smoothly pointed chin is visible. I can tell it's a guy, about my own age with a skinny build and breathing a lot harder than I had previously thought. Curious, I press my nose closer to the glass, rubbing it with my pyjama sleeve to get a better look at him.

Even as I watch, the figure seems to slow, clutching at its chest, but it looks more like they're in emotional rather than physical pain. He stumbles to a halt in front of my house, doubled over and breathing fast. I can hear him muttering under his breath, the words high and choked.

Hell, this is one screwed up_ loser_.

_(yeah, you'd've thought I'd've guessed it by now, but **no**.)_

I watch for a second or two longer, just about enough time to get bored and to consider dropping the curtain and going back to my nice warm bed.

Then it happens.

The figure straightens, burying bare fists into its shadowed eyes. Slowly, the hands move to the hair and sweep backwards, throwing back the hood in one mesermisingly fluid movement. Just then the moon rises over a cloud, illuminating the entire street in a wave of quicksilver shine, the silvery glow picking out every tiny detail of the stranger's face, one so vividly beautiful it takes my breath away.

I gasp, pressing my face right up against the glass, completely forgetting to stay quiet in my surprise.

Kyle

It's _Kyle_!

Almost as though he heard me, the breathless redhead flinches, glowing eyes glancing up at the moon regretfully before his hands come back and pull the hood up once more. He obviously doesn't want anyone to recognise him.

Hardly surprising really, considering the past weeks.

I can be such a bastard sometimes, I really can.

…And that makes me smile.

I turn away, dropping the curtain in mid stagger back to my lovely soft mattress…

Enjoy your just desserts, Jew-boy.

o0o

But its been like that every night since. Twelve thirty one every evening he goes past my house. Eyes down, hood up, feet flying along the snow like nothing could ever stop them.

The only place he can be safe now, after all I did.

…

…why don't I even feel proud anymore?

It feels as though my hearing's been amplified a hundredfold tonight. I can hear the tiny swish of the fabric of his clothes, the crunch of fresh snow beneath his sneaker…the tiniest quiver of a sob with each labouring exhale.

He's crying.

The fucking fag's _crying_.

Stupid pussy.

I sigh and turn back from the window, pulling the covers over my head. The neon numbers of my bedside alarm clock glow steadily just beside me.

Twelve thirty two…

Twelve thirty three…

….Just fucking go back to sleep, retard. He deserves it.

Twelve thirty four…

Twelve thirty seven…

_Ok OKAY! I'm up! Goddamn gay pussy brain keeping me up all night_

I sigh as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as the night air fridges my toes off. Gritting my teeth, I shuffle upright and pull on the nearest jumper, trousers and socks I can find, adding a battered black coat and boots as I creep down into the hall.

I don't know what made me decide to do this and quite a bit more than half of me still wants to be in bed… but all I can see is that bent head, those fists shoved deep into pockets, the curl of those sobbing breaths as they rise as steam around his flushed face.

God I'm such a fucking gaywad. The Jew-boy's turned me into some kind of walking Big Gay Al spoof.

But still, it wouldn't hurt to follow him…just the once.

o0o

Lift the latch and out the door. Don't swear too colourfully as you step on the cat and shut the flaming hinge on your fingers. Smother your face in scarves and break into a jog for the first time in your lazy-ass life as you glimpse him in the distance, a glowing ball of red on the crystal horizon.

South Park blurs and fades behind us, the trees thickening a little as the road becomes an icy footpath, littered with pebbles, weeds and rabbit crap. Freezing branches scratch down and snag on my hat, crystallised by wet and chill. I know that path well; there isn't one person in South Park that hasn't trod it a thousand times.

The track is only a couple of hundred metres long, a tiny bit overgrown but that just adds to the feel. It's the lonely place, the detached place, the place where people go to sort themselves out or lose themselves from the messed up crap going on in this anything-but-quiet mountain town.

Stark's Pond.

Home of the Helpless.

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_What can I say? Read and review :D_

_Mini challenge: lets make 65 reviews by the next chapter X3 I'll love you forever AND It'll be a great birthday present; I'm sweet sixteen tomorrow!yippeee!_


	11. Words Don't Matter Here

Chapter 11

Words Don't Matter Here

Pah, managed to make **64** reviews guys. Just one more….ahh well I couldn't wait more than three weeks so thought _why ever not_? This chapter's mini anyways

BUT ! MASSIVE COOKIES AND YUMMY THINGS TO ALL OF YOU who DID review, especially those who wished me a happy birthday. Every single one made my day (well, that and my birthday prezzies of course! hehe)...:big hug:

**Special thanks and cookies** to the lovely **BoogieWoogieWonka**, who said my fic is her favourite SP one! That made me smile for _hours_ THANK YOU so much!

So here comes the fluffalicious sequel…aagh this stuff is so hard to write...makes me go bright pink for no reason! But it's worth it in the end if you lot like it, but it _is_ the kind of chapter you'll love or hate…so let me know which it is:)

For those of you who are Cartman/Kyle fans…enjoy!

For those of you who aren't…read anyway and be happy 'cos this chapter isn't that long!

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CPOV

I don't know if you've ever noticed, but Stark's pond's almost entirely surrounded by trees. Trees that're so black and stern they stab upwards like blades against the sky, or the bars of some great iron cage bearing down to swallow you.

If you haven't then I wouldn't blame you, this whole midnight stalking thing's making me even more morbid than usual. My mind's getting more fucked up every minute.

It must have snowed around eleven, because there's a thin powdery layer of the stuff, over everything, smoothing away yesterday's footprints and leaving a perfect white circle in the clearing, split by the greasily obsidian puddle that is the pond itself. Even I feel my breath catch at the complete stillness of it all.

Kyle does no such thing. Ten wobbling strides and he's at the water's edge, toes nudging the brink as he stares into the blackened depths, rocking a little before slowing to a standstill; a single shivering pillar in the starlight.

I take another step, the shadows of the trees still masking me from view. I may still be hidden, but I can't be over eight metres away and can hear everything the oblivious Semite says as clear as a bell.

Good thing too, because he chooses that moment to start blubbering.

o0o

"I…I can't take this any more, Stan." The words are a whisper at first, the tiny thread of tears running through them is the only thing that gives them sound. But as he speaks his voice grows stronger, brimming over with a pain that makes my heart do retarded little bellyflops in my chest.

Stupid fag, talking to his assfucker friend at a time like this. What is he, skitzo?

"…Every day I see you walk past me, every lesson I watch your smile from across the room, to Kenny, to Wendy…to anyone. It's like you've forgotten me already. Dude, I miss you so much. You're my _best_ _friend_, you always have been. We've been together since kindergarten for God's sake. I remember that first day at school… you wouldn't let go of me, remember? …shit dude…All the things we've been though since. You and Kenny and Me…Its crazy…" he breaks off into another ragged breath

"…_and_ Cartman. I guess he's always been there too. I never really liked him, Stan, you know that, I don't think any of us did. He was just…there. Heh, Stupid frigging fatass…"

I stiffen in my hiding place, one gloved hand unconsciously clenching against my side, wondering why there's a sudden gnawing feeling inside my chest. Ouch.

I suppose that's the single most painful part of falling in love with someone. You leave your heart in their hands… and it only takes a tiny flex for them to crush it like a burnt cheesy poof.

My eyes blur with freezing tears, turning the green-clad boy sitting on the lakeside into a tiny coloured blot. An emerald in a world of white.

An emerald far too expensive for the likes of me.

You mean everything, Kyle.

But even like this you're too good for me.

I turn to go. What else can I do? If he says one more word I know I will never be able to face him again, and _Cartman_'s supposed to have no weaknesses. Especially weaknesses for lonely ginger Jews without a friend in the world.

_Poor little bastard._

That's it. That one thought is enough to change the course of two lives, or so I later found out. For at that point I hesitate, caught between the one I love and my nice warm, selfish bed back home.

One second of dithering.

One second too many.

For Kyle speaks once more, his words stopping me in my tracks all over again.

"But that's changing, Stan…I…I think I actually_ like_ him now. I don't understand why, I mean, to him I'm just a stupid ginger Jew-fro, right? I'm nothing. He's told me that ever since I can remember, and I've punched him to hell and back so that it didn't have time to hurt every time.

But now…he doesn't hate me.

I've noticed him watching me these past few weeks, always being there when I feel alone even though he thinks I can't see him. He sees more of me now than you ever did, Stan."

I hear Kyle sigh and his curly head slumps further onto his chest, one hand running nervously through his coppery hair. "I know it sounds stupid but…It's like he's the only one that sees me, the only one that cares…"

Slowly, like one in a dream, I step out from beneath the trees, the powdery snow hushing the sound of my footsteps, spreading out around us like a cloud.

"Am I grateful for that? …Or am I something more than grateful?"

I almost stop in my tracks, hope bursting like wings in my chest, so hard it hurts. Could he be..? Could he really feel something too?

I take another step forward, barely daring to breathe.

"I don't know, dude. I don't understand anything anymore. God I haven't got a clue what he way playing at with k-…um…" I can almost see the blush rising on his cheeks. "…with _kissing_ me…like that. Hell, I suppose I could even blame this whole sorry mess on him but…But I don't Stan… I _don't_. The more I think about Sam the less she matters. What did I see in her? I don't think _any_body knew, and now…and now whenever I daydream I end up thinking of him. I can't stop wondering _why_ he did what he did. Jealousy? Selfishness? Another one of his shitty master plans? …or does he really…truly…have some feelings for me?"

The last is a small, desperate note, quavering away into the icy night. A question never expected to be answered.

And_ that_ brings him to his senses.

With a dry, rueful laugh, Kyle gets to his feet, brushing the snow from his clothes, eyes still on the glassy water.

I'm standing right behind him now, less than a pace away, drinking in the warmth radiating from his skin into the cold. My breath comes fast and shallow as I try with all my heart and soul to stay quiet, to prolong this perfect moment forever.

Kyle sighs as he takes one last look at Starks pond, raising one palm in a sorrowful farewell.

"Heh, dude. I know you're not there. I know you'll never hear a single word I say here, but you're the only one I can talk to now. The real you hates me too much to listen. But if I don't tell somebody I'm going to explode. I have to tell _some_one, share it with _some_one…About what happened, about Sam, about this unshakeable loneliness…about Him…. I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore, do I, dude? Maybe I should just go…"

His shoulders slump, hand falling limp at his side. He turns…

Straight into my embrace.

"WH-?" Comes a terrified squeak from somewhere near my chest "Cartman! What're y-" But his words die on his lips as our eyes meet, plunging us into our own little silent world…

Words don't matter here.

One hand slides down his arm to his wrist, holding it gently so he can't push me away, the other curls carefully around his back, cradling him close against me. His coat is cold and stiff with frost, but feels like silk to my wondering touch.

I can't believe I'm doing this, here, right now…and with him.

He's so small… I never really noticed it before, like a china doll, exquisite in every detail, yet fragile as a sunray.

I can feel his shuddering shoulders against my forearm, the curve of his narrow spine against my chest and the frantic beating of his heart against his ribs, almost as fast as my own.

So delicate…

I don't want to break him.

Gradually, finger by finger, I release his wrist, trailing my palm along the hem of his sleeve, up to his shoulder to close gently around the nape of his neck. He shivers and my mouth curls into a smile; we both know it's not from the cold anymore.

But once again, reality threatens to ruin all.

"C-Cartman, I…you…how did you…this is crazy-" Those rose blushed lips quiver with concern, emerald eyes blazing up at me like two stars fallen from heaven.

He's so beautiful.

"Sssh," I murmur, tracing his jawline with one long finger. My touch trickles down to his collar and I watch his eyes close, a tiny, broken sigh escaping him. My angel.

"_Cartman…_" A last reluctant plea. Begging me to stop and to go on in the same breath.

Don't worry Kyle, don't think of tomorrow. Just think of us. Just think of now.

Slowly, tenderly, I lean down, tilting his perfect chin up to meet me as I do so, barely breathing as our lips brush in the starlight. So soft. So warm.

…I love you, Kyle.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0000000000000000000000ooooooooooooooooooo

…?


	12. The Melting Ice

Chapter 12

The Melting Ice

Awwwwwwwwww no! This took so long to be updated, I'm sorry!

Hope you like…there's about 3 more chappies to go methinks so if you've got this far with your sanity then you won't have to hold on much longer XD

For those of you who wondered about what the heck was wrong with Stan when he abandoned Kyle in this fic, well...I hope to answer that in this chapter and the next!

Kyle's days of misery are numbered! Role on true happiness! (and maybe true love...? oO) there's a spoiler for ya!

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_Stan Interlude- four days later_

It's was snowing again.

Great fat flakes twizzled down in lazy circles, adding a fresh, prefect layer over the whole of South Park. The gym would be closed, the sports pitches half buried in the giant sea of white, not a soul outside in the deadened silence of the town.

Stan Marsh leaned back against the window-frame, warm breath steaming up the glass as he watched the quiet scene below him. Suddenly, the tall youth's mouth curled triumphantly as an idea struck him. The hills were perfect for tobogganing in this kind of weather; maybe he should go ring Kyle and they could…

No.

Maybe he should go and ring_ Kenny _or _Wendy, _heck, maybe even _fatass_…

Not Kyle.

Kyle was gay. Kyle was a nerd. He hated Kyle.

An image of Wendy's girlish shrieks and Kenny's wandering hands flashed through his mind.

The youngest Marsh sighed, running a hand through his hair despairingly.

…suddenly tobogganing didn't seem so fun.

A low groan of frustration escaped the dark-haired youth as he kicked off the window ledge to his feet, pushing out of his bedroom on the way to the fridge. It was a common motto in the Marsh household; if all else fails; eat.

The stairs ran alongside a huge expanse of wall-space, flat from the floor of the hall to the roof of the upstairs landing. Up until a few months ago it had been completely bare, and Stan had liked it like that. But ever since his mum decided to take some time off and got hooked on DIY, the wall had undergone a makeover, the results of which now made her son's stomach flip with a horrible mix of rage and guilt.

The wall was covered in pictures of Kyle.

Ok, not just of Kyle, the main subject was supposed to be him and Shelly as they grew up, covering everything from his sister's braces to his own disturbing experiments as a goth and (shamefully) a meterosexual, the evidence of which he thought he'd burned long ago.

But in almost every picture of his younger self, a redheaded face was lingering in the background, sometimes laughing, sometimes pulling a face, sometimes just posing, his arm flung carelessly around the shoulders of his super best friend.

Heh, super best friend. How _gay_.

Like Kyle.

And he really shouldn't be feeling this horrible about himself for thinking that.

_He wasn't all that hungry now either_.

"Oh for _fucks_ sake!" Stan groaned, charging past the pictures and into the sitting room. Shelly was sitting in the armchair, reading a magazine. She looked up and scowled as he walked in.

"What the hell's wrong with you, turd? You look like shit."

"Fuck off." Her brother mumbled half-heartedly, dropping onto the sofa and reaching for the games console. A couple of rounds of Halo 3 could always cheer him up.

As he reached down, his fingers brushed the second controller, lying beside his own, the slightly more advanced model that Kyle had bought him for Christmas/Hannukah a year ago, just so that he could whoop his ass on every game he owned…

Heh, good times.

NO. BAD TIMES. Goddamnit Marsh, you HATE KYLE.

…But it wasn't true.

Stan dropped the controller and rolled back into the sofa cushions, grabbing one and crushing it into his face to try and block out the thoughts.

Kyle was a loser now, sunk in the world of nerd-dom that people with his reputation avoided like the plague, unless they wanted to be sucked down with them. Even thinking about the guy was dangerous, sure they were friends once but that was over now.

Kyle would never forgive him after this anyway…

Wait, what?! Forgive_ you_? You're not supposed to want his _forgiveness_! You're supposed to want him to _grovel_ at your _feet_ after you got Craig's lot off his back a couple of weeks back. Idiot.

"But you know what?" Stan suddenly burst out, chucking the cushion to the floor and taking a long breath of cool air. "I don't care about that. Any of it."

An immense feeling of release swept over him, making him feel lighter than he had in days. He didn't care that Kyle was an outcast, he didn't care if he was gay or straight or bi, he didn't even care that he might lose his entire reputation for helping him.

All that mattered was friendship, friendship with the one person who understood him better than anybody else ever could, or wanted to. His best and only true friend;

Kyle Broflovski.

"What the hell are you talking about, you stupid little turd?" Shelly snapped over her magazine, fixing her brother with a look that showed she was already picking out asylums to lock him up in. Realising how stupid he must have sounded, Stan threw a second cushion in his sister's direction and fled into the kitchen as fast as he could, flopping back against the wall with a determined smile on his face.

He would do it tomorrow, he decided. He would speak to Kyle, dispel the rumours, do anything he could to get his friend back the reputation he deserved.

But for now, he had a fridge to raid.

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Main chapter: CPOV

One week is all I had. One week of utter, blissful perfection.

Every day as wonderful as the last

A whole school day of loneliness, deliberately avoiding each other under the cold blue eyes of Stan, afraid even to pass each other in the halls. A whole week of trying to ignore that lightening spark, the ten thousand volts racing through my heart every time our eyes connected, every time our arms brushed on the way to class…

But when the bell rang and the school bus had pulled away, leaving the two of us just a short walk from the privacy of my room, normality melted away, leaving heaven in its place.

No sooner had the door closed then he was in my arms, tiny curls pressing eagerly against my jaw, perfect lips sobbing out apologies, curses and confessions in a whirlwind of angry kisses.

And I would kiss him back, running my large, clumsy hands up and down his spine, his cheeks, his neck, caressing all his cares away until he could do nothing but cling to me, too tired to love or hate anymore.

He'd murmur other names sometimes…Stan's…Samantha's…but all I had to do was kiss him again to make my own return. Two syllables of liquid desperation trickling from his pale, quivering lips.

_I'm so lonely, Cartman. So lonely_…

But even then, I knew the truth. This was no fairytale romance over the odds. This was no shock encounter of two enemies brought together through mutual lust.

No, this was the real world, not some shitty cartoon.

It was need. Pure instinctive need that would take what it wanted from any source, no matter when or where or who was going to give it.

He needed love, I was the only one who would give it to him.

I had his kisses, but I never had his heart.

Even then, I refused to believe. I wouldn't admit that all I was to him was someone to hold, someone to take the pain and loneliness of rejection away for a few short hours. All I did was embrace him, kiss him, love him, drinking in whatever he gave in return as though it was manna from heaven…

I should've known it was too good to last

ooo0ooo

"Hi Kyle."

Two words. Simple… abrupt… unemotional. Yet they carried enough weight to rock two worlds.

It was lunch break, classes just dismissed and everyone in our year was huddling around the lockers, chatting and laughing idly as they wondered what colour shit the dinner ladies would dole out today. Supposedly just another ordinary lunch break.

1.10 pm

Six months, two weeks and two days after I fell for the Jew

Four weeks, three days after his break up with pizza face

Six days, ten hours after Kyle and I became more than friends

All ruined in two point eight seconds.

I watch from a few metres away as the famous redhead stiffens, gently easing the door to his locker closed before turning around, as though still convinced he imagined that all-too-familiar voice.

But he does turn, smiling nervously up into ice blue eyes, radiating joy and disbelief by turns.

"uh…hey Stan,"

The jock smiles in reply, slouching a little and pushing his rucksack up on one shoulder, as though completely unaware of how important this conversation was. I could already see other people staring too, whispering incredulous behind their exercise books. For the first time in weeks South Park High's Super Best friends seemed to be on speaking terms.

"Dude, I know there's been some messed up shit recently…" the dark-haired boy says breezily, running a hand absently through his shiny locks (goddamn stupid poser).

"Guess so." Kyle mumbles, shifting from foot to foot

"…But I wanted you to know I've seen the light. There's no way you'd do…that stuff…with the fatass. He took advantage of you, that right?"

The Jew opens his mouth to reply, but Stan cuts him off. For once I'm grateful, I don't think I could have forgiven the words of agreement hovering treacherously on Kyle's tongue.

"It's not your fault, man, you're just kinda… small. No wonder you couldn't stop someone the size of him."

The whole incident in the canteen goes unmentioned, I see. Some things are just better left forgotten.

I see Kyle's cheeks colour a little at the jock's words, his bright green eyes flicking down to his toes. He's always cared about Stan's opinion a little more than was natural…or straight. Besides, 175cm isn't all that short for a guy.

"And I'm sorry about Craig and that lot," Stan continued, eyes flicking left and right "I tried to get them to stop but…" Kyle's warm smile sent sweet waves of relief running through him. That smile said it all; how it didn't matter how much of an asshole you were, or how much you hurt them, your best friend would always be your best friend. All was forgiven.

"B…but as it is…if Cartman tries to do anything like that to you again, you come to me, alright?"

"Alright." Kyle stammers but quickly finds his voice. I can already see him growing again, unfurling like a flower under Stan's friendly gaze.

"See you after class, 'k dude?"

"Yeah, that's cool." Such careless words, you can only tell how much they mean to him by the big goofy grin all over his face.

I've never seen him smile like that with me.

Suddenly, for no apparent reason, I feel my vision begin to blur. Blobs of salty liquid swim across my eyes, swelling until they're threatening to spill into view. Jesus tap dancing _Christ,_ what's _happening_ to me?

I have to get out of here. Fast.

A quick spin and I'm gone, striding down the corridor, leaving several squashed seventh graders in my wake, until I reach the boys bathroom and lock myself inside a battered cubicle, smashing my head against the wall so hard my teeth ache.

Then, and only then, do I allow my self to cry.

Yeah, I know. I fucking_ know_, alright? Don't look at me like that

Fatass Eric Cartman doesn't know how to cry.

Fatass Eric Cartman's one true love is a packet of Cheesy Poofs

Fatass Eric Cartman's soul is harder than mountain rock

Fatass Eric Cartman has a heart of Ice.

…

A heart now melting in a blaze of Jewish fire

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…? Sorry it's kinda short but PLEASE comment guys! 85 reviews…? "puppy-dog eyes"


	13. Poison Pen

Chapter 13 - unlucky for some...and definitely for Kyle and Cartman!

Poison Pen

Hey everybody!

Sorry for the delay, but I've been putting off submitting this chapter for a while, the sole reason for this being that I hate it. Y'know when, no matter how many redrafts and alternative versions you do, the finished product never seems quite right? Well this is one of those.

Nevertheless, I implore you from the bottom of my heart to write me a review! 100 reviews guys, it's so close now! We're nearly there…just seven of you….pwease? Cookies for all if you do!

Enjoy!

Xxx JPT xxX

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_Now class, Turn to page thirty eight_

One hour later and its third period maths with Miss Tits-On-A-Plate or whatever the fuck her name is, her mathematical drones washing in vain over the dozing class. I'm slumped in the middle-to-front part of the room, glazed eyes fixed on the back of the guy in front of me. As the slutty creature standing by the blackboard reads out the assignment, I feel just about bothered enough to glance at it.

The numbers swirl into one, the mathsy-looking diagrams warped into an alien code made largely of the letter K.

I sigh; it's no use; I can't even see the desk in front of me; let alone what the whore's scribbling all over the board.

…

_God**damni**t!_

I just can't get him out of my head. It's as though someone's taken a knife and carved his name there, or scorched it with a big burning brand. Indestructible, irremovable…and smarting like hell.

I've tried everything.

…But every time I relax enough to daydream, my mind swings right round, like some fucking retarded boomerang …

Straight back to him.

(…The watery eyes earlier were stupid, so you'd better forget about them, hippies, or I'll bash your faces in for being jackasses. I had something in my eye.)

Seriouslah.

… _exercises two and three… do the last question on each…any questions with a…_

You know what makes all this a thousand times worse? He's with **them**

I can see him now, sitting right in the centre of their little clique, like he always used to; Kenny on the left, Wendy on the right, and Bebe slumped adoringly on the desk behind. Stan's not in this class, thank god. As I watch the stupid Jew sniggers carelessly at something Bebe said, running his hands through his gorgeous curls and baring a row of picket-fence white teeth.

I notice her blush and smother a growl.

_Keep you paws off of him, you fucking whore._

Pretending not to notice the fact that she's practically salivating over him, the famous redhead twists back in his seat, a little smile still curling his sculpted lips as he jots another equation in his book. He looks so relaxed, so nonchalant, as if he's been in the social spotlight his whole life without a single blip…

But I'm the only one that's noticed his eyes.

…_couple of practise equations on the board…don't forget to cancel out the bracket..._

Everyone else's gaze is roaming, boredom flicking their eyes left and right, focussing on the odd face then slipping back, unseeing, to rest sullenly on the clock. His, however, are frozen; their focus never wavering as he talks to people and darting back to his paper the moment his lips close. Diligence? Anyone else would have said so but, naturally, Cartman knows better;

He won't look at _me_.

…_Substitute x … divide common denominator by... so the cube root of eight …_

Not once. For the whole damn lesson.

Flick up. Flick down.

Look at **me**, damnit! Just once would be enough, I can tell you want to. But you can't bear the hurt in my eyes, can you? You can't stand yourself for betraying me to that bloody jock.

Flick up.

My heart skips

Flick down.

My heart hits the soles of my boots with a dejected_ splat_

I sit, I fidget, I cough, drilling my eyes into the back of his head but to no avail. It's as though I don't exist, and trust me; someone my size is not used to being ignored.

_carry left with thirty …minus the square root of…_

Fuck this. I don't give a shit, not about _him_, nor his _smile_, not his _friends_, nor his poxy _reputation_…and I especially don't care about that note.

…Jesus H. Christ, do I have to tell you _everything_?

o0o

I always arrive early in maths class. Not because I'm some butt-kissing swot but the maths rooms have got these new chairs, all squeaky blue and modern… but they're fricking _tiny_…

Don't look at me like that. My butt still hurts from the first time I had to get levered out with a metre ruler, and if you were me, you wouldn't be so keen to repeat that episode either.

Moving on.

_He_, on the other hand, arrives late, strutting into the classroom with that blonde slut trying to wind her fingers round his arm. I gritted my teeth as I saw him, trying not to think how freaking _molestable_ he looked with his hair all tousled from the basketball match he'd been playing during the break (Did I mention he's back on the team now? Well ain't _that _a surprise).

I sit up just a little straighter as he brushes past me, lobbing a quick apology over his shoulder at the gyrating teacher. His gaze never flickers to mine, but a tiny rustle makes me squint down to see the tiny folded corner poking out from beneath my books. By then he's at his desk, having dropped the paper midway between opening his schoolbag, polishing his glasses and grinning at one of Kenny's dodgy innuendos. I don't know how the hell he did it without the eagle-eyes of Mr McCormick (henchman to Mr Marsh. Naturally.) picking up on it, but he did…

and I have been ignoring it ever since.

**I don't _want_ some fucking slip of paper! I want the _real thing_!**

…

Kenny nudges Kyle's shoulder and points at something he's just doodled on the cover of his exercise book, provoking a snicker and a blush from the embarrassed redhead.

_Sick piece of poor trash._

…

…?

…!!!

Oh SOD This.

I'm going to read it.

o0o

_**Cartman, **_

His writing is small and cramped, as though trying to slink its way off the paper before I can catch it.

_**I saw you in the hall, you know, when I was talking to Stan. Heh, guess it's about time I did the observing for once**_

_**Dude I know you must be pissed as hell right now, but you know what's going to happen as well as I do.**_

_**This is my life, Cartman, these are my friends; my best friend. They're not stuff you give up for…**_(here there are a hell of a lot of crossings out, I guess he's having about as much trouble as I did summing up exactly what it is we have… _had_.) _**the sake of one person.**_

_**There's no other way of saying this, is there?**_

_**This can't go on. Not now, not ever again.**_

_**I'm sorry.**_

_**Kyle**_

o0o

I had to read it twice. The sunlight made my eyes go all blurry after the second paragraph for some shitty reason. This time though it was all too clear.

Kyle smiles at Bebe as he reaches back to pass a worksheet, letting her deliberately brush her hand against his.

He knows I've read it. I can tell.

But he doesn't look at me, not once.

_Fuck you, asshole._

o0o

The shrill scream of the bell comes minutes later and the class dribbles sullenly out into the hallways. Kyle shines like a beacon in their midst, his fiery crown putting the sun to shame.

He's forgotten me.

Just another piece of litter, tossed aside.

No more Cartman.

…

_But he's forgotten exactly who it is he's dealing with here._

I sit there a few moments longer, allowing a small grin to play across my face as a plan forms in the depths of my twisted mind.

Nobody rejects Eric Cartman. **Nobody.**

_I'll get you back, Kyle, even if it's the last thing I do._

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_Note to self; NEVER piss off a fatass, you never know what they might be up to…_


	14. The Fall of Zit Zillah

Chapter 14

The fall of Zit-Zillah

WOW MAJOR HIATUS! I know how many times this is typed, but I'm SO sorry for the delay! I really am! But I've been more than a little busy, and any spare writing time I have has been devoted to my own, non-fanfiction novel (which might be getting published soon, guys! Wish me luck!!), which has to be polished off and edited before next month or several people are gonna have my guts for garters.

Aaaaanyway, literary death threats aside, welcome to the long (long long _long_!)-awaited revenge of Kyle on Samantha! Hope this satisfies you Broflovskifan! X3

And everyone, I cannot thank you enough for your reviews, and I devote this chapter to Beemo in particular for that inspiring PM, cheers dude! Hope you like

Second to last chapter coming right up (and its UBER long!):

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Later that day

KPOV

The school bell rung, loud and clear in every single classroom heralding the start of the weekend and two whole days of freedom. Kyle Broflovski sat back in his desk with a smile blazing bright across his face; a perfect day over, another test aced…and a meeting with the most important person in his life starting just a few minutes from now

Ignoring the teacher's last minute instructions for the homework (he'd worked out the answers at a glance anyway) the handsome Jew shrugged on his schoolbag and swung out into the corridor, riding the noisy train of students out into the clamour of the playground.

Dodging a few stray balls and a couple of retarded sixth graders playing tag, Kyle ducked into the shadow of the main building and padded over to the tiny courtyard behind the biology block; his and Stan's secret meeting place ever since they'd started highschool.

It was quiet here; a faint smell of damp and dust casting veils of calm and secrecy over the scene. Some kid had scribbled words across the back wall and the gutter was hanging off the wall on one side; the result of a high speed encounter with a passing football. But none of that mattered; they were just the histories of other people who had met here and seen how special the place was

Kyle snorted, colouring slightly as he realised just how much poetic tripe was wittering away in the back of his mind. It was just a dumb schoolyard, after all, even if it did have that unusual quality…

"So even standing alone makes you blush now?" came a warm voice in his ear, and Kyle flinched despite himself, twisting round to see Stan's mischievous smile. His lips twitched into an identical grin; he should have remembered how much his best friend liked to sneak up on him….(and how good he was at it!)...but it had been a while since they'd even spoken, let alone been this friendly.

Reading his expression perfectly, as always, Stan's grin faded and he took a step back, eyes dropping guiltily to the tarmac, but unable to resist flicking up now and again, silent torture gleaming in their depths.

"Hell dude, you know how crap I am at apologies…" Stan mumbled at his feet, scuffing a toe into the gum-splattered tarmac.

"Confrontations in general, if I remember right." Kyle smiled again, but tiredly, as though the memory of the past weeks had drained all his energy. "You'd always get me to go do them for you, like with Wendy. A bit tougher this time eh?"

"Yeah." Stan sighed, and for a moment it looked as though the conversation would be left at that, but a spark glittered somewhere in his eyes and he tried again, his voice a little stronger. "You'd always….I've always depended on you dude, y'know that?"

Another smile, but Stan's face was blurring into the mists of memory. Kyle's gaze lowered as a blurry slideshow of their past clouded his mind. All those days…all those nights…all those villains and heroes and frankly gay perverts…

The good old days.

The phrase sent a pang through his heart, and he found himself hoping with a passion that the rift was not too wide to repair.

He didn't think he could live without it much longer; without friends, without fun…

Without Stan.

…

"….Dude?"

"Yeah?" Kyle started and blinked quickly out of his daze, his eyes looking up to be instantly consumed by those of his best friend. He had to crane his neck pretty far; for some reason the two of them were standing close…

Very close.

His voice had sounded calm, and the dark-haired youth even took a step towards him, closing fingers around his forearms as though determined to hold his attention. But the moment their eyes met, Stan tensed and broke eye contact, studying his toes as she spoke.

"Damn this is a stupid question." He muttered, half laughing at himself "…but…seriously man…are…a-are you really gay?" Stan's heart clenched as he felt the redhead move beneath his hands, the sinews of his arms suddenly taut with words he doesn't know how to say.

"…Stan I-"

"Because its ok if you are, you know!" the taller youth cut him off hastily. "Uhm…you know, I don't think I'd mind at all actually…it would be…k-kinda cool really." Jesus tapdancing Christ that sounded so _lame_! What the fuck was wrong with him? He sounded like a freaking lovesick _girl_!

"…maybe it would. Be cool I mean." The words shot up Stan's spine faster than ice and he turned bewildered eyes on his best friend. Kyle met his gaze steadily, those luminous eyes alight with a mesmerising blend of emotions. Seriousness clouded most of it, that was for sure; he certainly not messing him around. And beneath that a casual kind of happiness, as most best friends have when they're talking to each other…but deeper still…there was a spark of something warmer, something that began so small, like the tiniest flicker on the point of a match, but blossomed brighter and brighter until it ricocheted between them like a runaway Catherine Wheel, lighting up their faces in identically blushing smiles.

The Marsh boy looked down at the redhead with soft blue eyes, drinking in the perfect roundness of those freckle-dusted cheekbones, the sparkle in his smile and his hypnotisingly emerald eyes. It made something within him flare wonderfully in a way it never had before.

Suddenly, the reasons behind Cartman's obsession with Kyle didn't seem so much of a mystery…

Oh god, he hoped Kyle couldn't tell how hard his heart was beating right now.

…

"…Hey, Stan?" Kyle broke the silence gently "Do you think you-"

But whatever the question was going to have been, it never left his lips, for at that moment an all too familiar voice shot across the schoolyard, laced with a deceptive sweetness that made both boys' stomachs turn.

"Oh Kyyyyyyllllllleeeee!" Samantha simpered as she strutted over to them. Her skirt was hitched even higher than usual today, and a fluorescent ribbon fluttered garishly in her knot of hair. She looked like a Barbie doll might do if you stuck it in a blender.

Without pausing for breath, the spotty cow flung her arms around her ex boyfriend and pulled him into a bone shattering squeeze. "Oh babyyyy," she whined petulantly, oblivious to the disgusted faces of the crowd that was gathering around the three of them

"I'm soooo sorryyy for what's happened! You _know_ I never believed it, not for one _second_! Oh, that _beast_ Cartman! I would so much like to give him a piece of my mind…" she snuggled a little closer, no matter how many times Kyle tried to prize her away. "But first, Kyliepoo, I'm going to let you do something wonderful, ok? I'm going to let you take me back!" beaming repulsively, she stepped away from him, arms still around his shoulders, but so that they were eye to eye. She batted her eyelids and someone in the back started making vomiting noises. "Go on, baby! Ask me out again and everything can go back as normal! I know you've wanted it for_ all_ this time, right honeykins? I've missed you…"

If the situation hadn't been so serious, Stan would have burst out laughing at the expression on his friend's face! Kyle looked as though someone had just chucked roadkill down his shirt.

_Honeykins? Kyliepoo?!_ Ha! She was _so_ in for it.

But Kyle stayed silent.

What he _did _do, however, was carefully close his fingers around her wrists. Lifting them gently but firmly away from him, before pushing her back. The shove wasn't hard, but the pustule-ridden girl hadn't been expecting it and reeled backwards as though she had been hit by a train, staring at her ex-boyfriend unadulterated shock.

That would have been enough for most people, but Samantha never quits.

"Ky_liiii_eeeee?" she crooned, and stepped forward again, pincer-fingers snatching for her one-time lover.

She remained oblivious to the gathering crowd, and of the stares and wrinkled noses following her every move. In Sam's mind the world had dissolved into one great universal blank, with the poor redhead standing slap bang in the middle of it. He was all that existed and she would do_ anything_ in her power to get her claws back into him. There was nothing that could stop her now.

That was, until the lean, muscled torso of Stanley Marsh loomed into view, stepping between them like a great, indomitable wall. Sam looked into his face and whimpered; the disgust in his gaze was enough to scare even_ her_ inner-psychopath.

Now, lets not get this wrong; Stan was reasonably peaceful by nature, content to let everyone get along (or fight if they _have_ to) and only intervene if it means stopping a brawl, rather than starting it.

But one look into her slimy, back-stabbing, acne-ridden face was more than enough to change his mind. That and Kyle's helpless expression. In that moment, Stanley Marsh _hated_ Samantha Saint-Claire, and wasn't afraid to let the whole world know it.

"Stay away from him!" he snapped, but Samantha would not quit without a fight. Rallying her energy, she leapt to her feet, flat fist flying to slap Stan across the face. But the slap never quite reached its target, for Stan quickly reached up a hand and caught the wrist in mid-flight, holding it there so that he and Sam were nose to nose. What he said next was whispered in her ear, low and deadly, yet still managed to be heard by everybody around them.

"I don't know what your game is, here, but it stops right now. Can't you see he wants nothing to do with you? Look, do us all a favour, Zit-face, and leave us alone."

He let her fall, whimpering, back to the floor, and a stunned silence radiated over the scene.

Then-

"Yeah!"

"You tell her!"

"Yeah, leave him alone, Zit-face!"

Calls sprung up from all across the gathered ring of students. This was no longer one personal vendetta; Samantha had spread her fair share of painful rumours about people around the school but had been largely protected from the fallout because she had been Kyle's girlfriend. Now that even the redhead had rejected her, there was nothing to stop the crowd dealing out what they had always felt she deserved:

A taste of her own medicine.

"Zit-face! Zit face! Zit face!" On and on, the spiteful words echoing the clapping hands, flying like gunshots across the emptying schoolyard. Samantha quivered like a cornered gopher, her wiry limbs shaking as she looked from hateful face to hateful face, realizing all too late that there was nowhere to run.

"S…s-stop it…!" the words dribbled over her lips, any strength they might have had sapped away by the fury in Stan's eyes. The dark haired youth stood tall over the throng, his broad shoulders squared and his blue gaze harder than diamond. Only now, when all the pretences had been stripped away, did he see what poison this girl was, her malicious mutterings the source of so much of the hurt and loss he had felt over these past months. And to top it off she had done the most unforgivable thing that he could comprehend, one for which there would be no forgiving and no reprieve.

She had hurt Kyle.

His ice white teeth gleamed as he smiled.

And now he was going to make her relive what he went through. Over and over again.

Until something amazing happened, right then and there;

A hand on his arm.

And not just any hand; there, with his thin fingers wound around his elbow and his emerald eyes ablaze, stood Kyle, staring up at Stan with a look on his eyes that could have doused fire, let alone the rage of his best friend.

Kyle spoke then, his words addressed to Stan and, though his lips barely moved, they seemed to cut through the atmosphere like a knife, reaching everyone's ears with painful clarity.

"Leave her alone."

In that moment everything juddered to a halt, every chant, every clap, every heartbeat, all minds focused on this blazing redhead and the fire in his face as he gazed down on the quivering gopher-girl.

Stan was the first to move, one hand reaching out to Kyle whilst the other motioned to the crowd, who seemed all-too-eager to start up another chant.

"Kyl-" But Kyle wasn't listening. Instead he takes a step towards Sam, who immediately misreads it and practically crawls on her knees to his feet, her face contorted into what's probably meant to be a pitiful smile.

"Kyle sweetie! I knew you'd-"

"Go home, Sam." Kyle speaks and she stutters to a standstill, boggling at him.

"What?"

"I said go home. Please. Just leave and make sure that I never see you, ever again." The words were cold, but said with such calm confidence that she didn't even cry, just took it all with wide eyes and grimacing smile.

"What you did was wrong, I think even you know that." Kyle continues "But this-" he waves at the crowd "This chanting, this bullying, has to stop. There are people standing here that have dealt out this kind of punishment before, with me at the receiving end."

Behind him, Stan remembers the incident in the cafeteria and flushes with shame.

"I know how it feels, how all of this feels. That is why I'm letting you go. Only next time this happens, do not expect me to be so nice to you."

"B-b-b-ut…"

"Just go. Now." Kyle drops his gaze and turns away from her, leaving the playground gates in plain view. The gesture of dismissal could not have been plainer.

San sits stunned.

For a moment it looks as though she's going to say something, but the wall of hateful scowls shoves the words back under her tongue. Her beady eyes scuttle back and forth, seeing no help and no pity; the result of years of backstabbing and plots. Then, with a huge, snotty sob, she turned on her heels and was gone, ugly schoolbag flapping at her ankles until she disappeared from sight.

I don't know what happened to Sam after that. Some people said she's home-schooled now, others that she transferred to North Park and has latched onto a different guy there, poor bastard. But then again, there's always the alien abduction story that happened the moment she reached the school's gates and, knowing South Park, that's always the most likely story.

But, no matter what her fate, that was the end of Samantha Saint-Claire.

And don't pretend you miss her.

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!!gasps!! Cartman didn't feature in this one :-o but have no fear, he will return in all his obese-ly evil glory for the next chapter, which is (almost?) entirely his point of view.

You shouldn't have long to wait, I promise…but only if you R and R! please? They honestly do inspire me.


	15. Always and Forever

Chapter 15 

Always and Forever 

Dedicated to the song _"Photograph_", by Nickelback. Anyone who hasn't heard it definitely should. It's the best song in the world and the one that inspired this chapter.

This is **THE LAST CHAPTER**, people! It's been fun, and I'll definitely be writing more so keep your eyes open.

If you have any recommendations/plots/pairings for me then leave 'em in a review! I'm looking for a challenge ;o)

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One month later 

Stan and Kyle's relationship happened slowly. In fact, I don't think anyone noticed it, except those closest to them…and a certain fatboy watching them with murder in his eyes.

It was always the little things that hurt me most

The occasional glance

The snapshot of a smile

Just the tiniest brush of their arms, the smallest curl as their pinkie fingers interlocked beneath the desk….

Tiny barbs in my soul

Barbs I swore that I'd repay in blood. Drop by vengeful drop.

All I needed now, was a way to go about it.

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The chance practically fell into my lap just before summer break, when I overheard the three dickwipes that used to be my best friends talking about some trip they were planning the day the holidays started.

Apparently Kenny'd whored himself out again (and don't you fags dare give him any sympathy; I'll bet he enjoyed every moment) during the term to fix that battered piece of shit he calls a car, and wanted to take them all (plus Bebe, his current mating partner) driving up in the mountains for a couple of days, just to kid themselves they were free adults before things like holiday homework caught up with them. It was all an unofficial 'couple thing'.

Basically it was retarded excuse to make out with each other with nobody else around but the trees.

…well, that's what _they_ think.

I smile to myself from a few desks away, my mind already sketching a plan.

People compare this talent with evilness to Hitler's, but trust me, the asshole's got nothing compared with me.

**ooooooooooooooooo000000ooooooooooooooooooo**

Sawdust, check.

Dirt, check

Tacks, check

Screwdriver, check.

Hammer, check

Black Paint, check.

I smile as I close my front door and the damn stars are lighting up the whole sky, but nothing can dampen my mood now. If it's too bright in the open then I'll stick to the shadows, no big deal. There's no one around to see me anyway.

Smiling, I turn to the scummier side of town, looking for the home of the poorest of my three 'best enemies'.

Kenny's car is parked right outside his shithole of a house, already poised for the journey beginning early in the morning. They're taking all the winding roads up in the mountains, or so I heard; all those twizzling little tracks with nobody to bother them…

…And nobody around to help if anything goes wrong

Ah sweet, sweet triumph.

I wrench open the bonnet and set to work. The fuel is my main target; I wrench the top of the container off with a screwdriver, then pour the sawdust, the dirt and the tacks in as fast as I can. After that, a hammer puts the lid back into place, and a lick of paint to hide the crack seals the deal.

I feel like laughing as I push the bonnet back shut, my steps light as I head for home, without a shred of guilt to weigh me down.

You arseholes didn't think I'd be ashamed, did you? No, I'm glorying in this, fucking _glorying_, and none of you are gonna take that away from me, got that?

Still, I can't ignore the strange hollow feeling in my chest as I trog home, the deed done and black paint speckling my favourite jeans. I curse as I let myself back into my house, the silence of the hallway making my heart twinge tighter.

Fuck that. I'm probably just hungry. Maybe a donut or three before I go to bed will fix this right up…

I grin again as I open the fridge, its sharp white light sculpting my face into a demented leer. But I don't feel it. I don't feel any of it. Not even when sticky chocolate goodness dribbles between my fingers and my mouth fills with their sweet, fluffy taste. Nothing. Because my mind's not on the food. It's still out there, in the street, beneath the moon…

Hey, I told you before didn't I? I don't give a shit! Not one damn bit. So shut your faces.

The fridge slams shut a bit harder than I intended, and I hear Mom stir upstairs. She's not going to do anything though; she's used to me being in the kitchen at night.

Nobody knows I've done anything out of the ordinary.

Nobody can blame me.

And _nothing _can stop me now.

And with that, Eric Cartman, the most spoiled, sadistic fatass in South Park, lumbers back up the stairs to his bedroom and crashes into slumber.

But not before setting his alarm. Oh no. I've put all the work into this plan, so like hell am I going to sleep in tomorrow and miss it.

I'll be there, all right. Watching every single painful second.

You can be sure of that.

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The alarm rings bang on time. Its 7.45, earlier even than a school morning, but for once I'm not complaining. Nope, I'm like a fucking kid at Christmas time as I shrug off the covers, pull on my clothes and sling a backpack over my shoulders.

In forty minutes time, Jew-boy and the others will be piling into Kenny's car, determined to start early and beat the morning traffic.

_And I'm going to be there to see them off…from afar, of course. _

Breakfast takes longer, of course (all this evil plotting requires at least six rashers of bacon, if not seven), but I'm out of the door with ten minutes to spare.

Kenny's house is quiet as I pull up to the curb, (close enough to see but not enough to draw attention to myself) but there are already signs of movement in the driveway outside.

Stan is the first to arrive, with Kyle hanging happily on his arm. Both of them are carrying heavy backpacks and leaning blearily on each other, joking about the early morning with a familiarity that makes me feel sick.

A few weeks ago, and that could have been _me_ with Kyle on _my _arm.

Talk about time changing people.

They reach the door and Kenny answers, half dressed, shirt-unbuttoned and his hair spiked by sleep (and by Bebe's fingers, no doubt). Sure enough, she appears beside him moments later, in a slightly better state but with POST-SEX practically written across her stupid forehead. Good, the whores deserve each other.

I think Jew and his fucktoy have a go at the two of them then, because all of them disappear inside pretty sharpish, the door closing with a decisive snap. Quarter of an hour passes, just long enough to me to wonder, before the door suddenly opens again. They all come spilling out, laden with bags and baggage (though Bebe's idea of 'laden' appears to be rucksack the size of a handbag, and a bottle of lager). Bags rustle, someone curses, the doors open, and all four of them clamber inside, their limbs barely fitting between a maze of luggage.

Another minute and they're pulling away, looking forward to a peaceful, uninterrupted make-out holiday like the retards they are.

My grip tightens on the wheel.

If they only knew what was _really_ in store…

I chuckle to myself and start the engine, eyes trained on the retreating car as my own leaps into life.

Vengeance will be sweet, Jew-boy.

And neither of us have long to wait.

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Unfortunately 'not long' turns out to be more than just a couple of hours. Its late afternoon by the time Kyle's crew spy a roadside diner and stop for dinner. It's the last one for miles, and all of them are hungry after such an early start, not to mention the fact that the car's been playing up for almost the whole of the journey.

I smirk as I watch them turn off, guessing the mood in the car by the sounds that have been filtering back to me during the journey so far.

The moment they left South Park, the little shit-mobile's been juddering and groaning like some geriatric grandma, the spluttering getting deeper and louder with every passing mile. Everyone's been trying to ignore it, but even I (who's been tailing at least half a mile behind them) can hear the noise its making.

Every time I do, it makes me laugh; my plan's working perfectly.

_Nerves must be frying in there. _

I imagine the scene as I look on from the road outside.

The diner bell will be ringing as they enter. The boys probably order burgers (Kyle's a chicken burger, of course), and Bebe's sure to be picking at a salad.

All four of them are far too occupied to feel an extra pair of eyes watching them, or to look up and see an all-too-familiar car gliding past.

My focus turns back to the road, but the smile doesn't fade from my jowly face.

Their car's barely got three miles left in it, if those grating roars are anything to go by, so all I have to do now is predict where it's going to go down, and lie in wait.

I've barely been driving five minutes when I find the perfect spot.

There's a bend up ahead where the path curves uphill. It's not too sharp and most vehicles would go by easily…but it does add that little bit of pressure to the engine, that little bit of strain…just enough to stop a _certain _car altogether.

The pussies won't know what's hit them.

I spin round the corner and deliberately nudge my car into the trees on one side, refusing to brake until it's at least five metres away from the roadside.

_Can't have them seeing me now, can I? _

The moment the engine dies, I waddle out and survey my work. Not bad, but it could do with some extra covering; the rear lights might catch someone's eye.

Quickly, I pull some branches over the roof and the back bumper; the disguise is shitty, but the car's a dark colour anyway, and they won't exactly be expecting anyone to be around. Once that's done, my eyes turn to my surroundings, scuttling left and right for somewhere to hide.

I find it in seconds.

There. A small evergreen bush, tucked in deep shade a little way back from where the plants meets the road. It's about half my height, so I'll have to squat, but it gives a flawless view over the bend and the road beyond, with nothing but a couple of grassy clumps in the way.

Ringside seats.

_Perfect. _

Grabbing my own dinner from the back seat (as if I'd forget food!) I settle myself down and get comfortable. It'll take about half an hour before they get here, but that rattling engine should give me more than enough warning, and sitting here means I'll be ready in moments.

With time on my hands, I turn my attention to the landscape for the first time, suddenly realising that it's later than I thought, and night is beginning to fall.

The sun sets early in the mountains anyway, and I watch it sink towards the horizon as I wait for the others to get back on the road. It's a beautiful sunset; all shimmering gold and trails of scarlet and black. Kyle would probably have used some pretty metaphor, but to me they're the colour of bruises and blood, a brilliant, sky-wide tribute to the violence stirring in my heart.

_Kyle Broflovski is going to **pay**_.

Mustard runs down my chin as I take a savage bite of my fourth sandwich. Anticipation fizzes deliciously on my tongue.

I can't _wait _to see their stupid little faces….

Minutes pass and, all too soon, I hear a familiar spluttering bang on the horizon.

My grin widens.

Here they come.

I timed it perfectly, of course. The moment the car passes my hiding place it gives one final gasp and dies beneath them, its bonnet flying open and engulfing the clearing in jets of acrid steam

The four of them spill out, and for a moment I forget about the plan and just watch them, revelling in their reactions. Each completely different, and each completely retarded.

Kenny's throwing a strop, his hands buried in his thatch of hair and his legs whirling him around in circles, like some spasticated wind-up toy. He's yelling something about a waste of fucking wages, but I'm not really paying attention.

Bebe's on a mobile to a friend (no doubt that bitch Testaburger), yakking away in this shrill little squeal, as though her whole life's on the line or something.

_Wrong, you little whore. **You're** not the one who should be worrying right now. _

Stan and Kyle, I guess, are the only ones doing anything of real use. Stan's got the bonnet open and is rummaging around inside, and Kyle's got some kind of manual poised beneath his nose, and is pointing to things out to him.

I'm not worried though. Even with a brain as big as Kyle's on the job, it'll take them ages to figure out what's wrong

_More than enough time for me to strike. _

I grin to myself as I extract my final tool from the bag on my back, feeling the long, slim contours of the baseball bat slide easily into my palm.

Why a baseball bat? A knife would be too messy, a gun too easy, and I wanted him to see my face before he went down. Oh yes, I desperately wanted that.

I can picture it now: He and his little boyfriend, squirming on the ground as I stand over them, weapon held high. I could make him beg, make him plead, make him grovel on the ground and swear that he'll take me back, that he'll do anything, as long as I don't hurt him.

He'll beg because he'll think I'm stupid.

No doubt he'll think I'll fall for something as lame as that, that I won't be able to see the bond between him and Stan. It glows like a fucking _beacon_, for God's sake; I'd have to be blind to have missed it.

The moment I lay the weapon down, and he's done what I asked of him, then he would go crawling back to his little dark-haired lover, and leave me in the dust.

Again.

Bitterness curls like bile in my throat, and I grip the weapon with renewed determination. No, I won't even give him a chance to beg. I'll smash his pretty little Jew-face in before he can even try and charm me. Him and his little jock buddy too.

Besides, I've already stalled long enough. Time to act.

My grip tightens and I move to stand, bat sliding perfectly into position…

Then it happens.

To this day, I don't know why; I guess I dislodged some leaves or something when I moved…but suddenly Kyle looks up from his book and glances over at the roadside, his beautiful brows knotted in suspicion.

Brows that fly up, moments later, when they alight on my hiding place, his expression blurring into one of surprise and recognition.

My blood turns to ice.

Oh god.

He's seen me.

I watch in agony as he touches Stan lightly on the shoulder, murmuring something that sends his best friend back to the innards of the car, and gives him an excuse to wander away into the bracken…

….right up to where I'm sitting.

I cringe as the toes of his battered trainers nudge up against the bush that hides me, and I feel his gaze boring into the back of my neck. It occurs to me that I'm really not all that inconspicuous, owing to certain spindly branches and my excessive amounts of blubber.

Finally giving up the ruse, I struggle to me feet, sweaty and flushed like a whale wrenched out onto the beach from a cool green sea. We're swathed in shade here, invisible to everybody save a few skittering squirrels in the canopy above…and yet standing before him I feel more exposed than ever, as though he is the sun on this beach that I've been thrown onto, his beautiful brilliance scalding every inch of my skin.

The bat drops from my hand and rolls away into the leaves, forgotten.

"Cartman." He says. That's all. But that's enough.

I see the look in those angel eyes and feel my iron heart turn to mush. All that hate, all those plans, all that brutal, steely resolve…gone in one evergreen starburst. I see a tiny smile of welcome playing on his lips, but it comes with a warning to keep my distance, that the past was the past.

All those expressions and signals seem clear now, as I look back on them, but back then all I could think of was two words. Two words beaming out of those emerald irises and right into my soul. The two words I know I should have heard days ago but was just too damned scared to heed…

_Its Over _

_"K-Kyle…" _I stutter, suddenly remembering to breathe. The name feels forbidden on my lips, as though just by saying it, I'm claiming something that is no longer mine. He smiles again, so soft, so gentle, and slowly leans forward…

His last kiss, like a whisper on my cheekbone, is as tender as the first, yet tinged with the bittersweet flavor of farewell that swells my heart even as the tears course down my cheeks.

Kyle is the first to break away, his hand still lingering against my jaw, thumb brushing away the last shining tears. I hadn't even noticed I was crying. He looks at me with those beautiful eyes and I know what he's going to say. I know how much it will hurt me and yet I realise that, without it, I can't move on in life. Without these words I'll remain in this moment forever, caught between having and wanting, owning and losing.

But that doesn't stop it hurting.

"I don't love you Cartman." There's no cruelty in the words, only a kind, soft compassion that I know he'll forever hold for me, the remains of something that was never meant to last.

I reach out my arms and hold him again, cradling him against me like I did on the first night. Only this time our heartbeats are slow, beating out our goodbyes with every passing breath.

Finally, I release him, giving him a light push on the shoulder so he half turns, eyes already drifting to the near horizon where Stan and the others wait, framed by the glowing halo of the sinking sun. The blood and bruises are gone from the sky now, their hues just a bright border fading slowly into night.

One last squeeze on his shoulder and I whisper in his ear.

"I know, Jew. I think I've always known."

A smile at that; a small glimmer of glowing relief as he is released from me, yet a profound understanding for the value of what was lost.

Then he's gone

Running away into the distance, with only a single wave to remember me by. I watch as he reaches Stan, grabbing his best friend in a fierce hug. Then he's climbing into the passenger seat of the car and closing the door with a finite snap. The arseholes have repaired the damage already. I guess I didn't maim it as badly as I thought.

The thought echoes hollowly within me as they drive away, their silhouettes lost in a wash of liquid gold sunlight.

I'm alone at last.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooo0ooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Slowly, Eric Cartman, fatass, Hitler-lover and brat, turns back into the trees, car forgotten, and follows the path that will lead him home as though he hasn't a care in the world.

But for those who know him best, there is a glimmer of sadness in his sky blue eyes; the relics of words recently spoken that will never be forgotten.

I don't love you Cartman. Kyle had said.

_But I know you will always love me _

**oooooooooooooooooooooooo000000000000000000000ooooooooooooooooooooo**

**FIN**

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